Precious Birds
by Geenie ate me
Summary: Alfred is an impulsive owner of a coffee shop who craves for something exciting to happen in his quiet life. However, he never expected a sudden visit from a Russian artist to be so exciting. Nor terrifying. Serial Killer Russia.
1. Bored

His afternoons were mostly spent staring out the window in a dazed mindset. Business was slow on Sunday afternoons, he wasn't quite sure why, but they were. Alfred's usually chatty self was reduced to a recluse, watching wistfully through the dirty glass the wind kicking the fall leaves. They scraped against the sidewalk outside, and swirled around the lamp post. He was almost envious of them, almost.

The Tea, Bagels, and Coffee shop him and Arthur owned actually did decent in Albuquerque New Mexico. Arthur was skeptical of the idea, moving out to a dusty desert, far away from the city life they both used to relish in. But Alfred was so energetic and excited about the idea, that somehow he convinced his Foreign exchange high school friend to take a risk in starting the business. Alfred's twin brother lived out in Santa Fe, and got the idea when visiting his college dorm. It wasn't like the usually ignored state enchanted him, he just wanted a change. A huge change.

Originally Arthur suggested they make a Tea, Scones, and Coffee shop but Alfred shot down the idea right away. It took hours of convincing Arthur that bagels were a universal food, and that scones, quite frankly, weren't. Arthur's emerald eyes squinted in reluctance, but he finally agreed, although he still insisted on selling the damn things at the register. Few bought any. Some brave fools they were.

Francis, the baker next door purchased them just so he could mock Arthur's baking skills. He laughed in his haughty French accent, calling them stones instead of scones. Arthur for the most part _tried_ to ignore Francis, although it was quite painful to watch. How his gigantic eyebrows twisted in anger, and his lips pushed out in a pucker. Just to spite the Frenchman, he would order a box of those Harry Potter chocolate frogs and leave them outside his shop door. If Alfred didn't know any better, he would mistake their bubbling feud for sexual tension. But ignored them both all the same.

He was too busy day dreaming to care, to busy leaving his practical life of becoming a forced lawyer behind. Too busy being bored with the Sunday slowness. On such days, from time to time, he would walk up the street and into the comic shop on the corner. The man who usually ran it was Japanese, and overly polite. Kiku became a good friend of Alfred's, and even sometimes played spy for Arthur when he wanted to know if Francis had any devious plans in stored for him. They enjoyed each other's company, Alfred's banter on different comic book heroes, and Kiku's retort about why Manga was superior to American comics.

Life, life was okay. And sometimes Alfred contemplated if okay ever fit his standards to the American dream. And sometimes when Alfred felt bold, wondered if there ever was such thing as an American dream. He would never share such thoughts with his British roommate however; he couldn't withstand the long arrogant rants about why England was so much better. He got an earful of that anytime he even dared to bring fast-food home.

But truly, if anyone really knew Alfred, they would know that he was still unsatisfied. That something exciting was missing from his all too quiet life that he needed action, adventure, and the shop just was not cutting it. He felt like bouncing off walls or tearing his hair out on days like this. If one thing Alfred F. Jones couldn't withstand, it was boredom. And that's why he almost envied the fall leaves being kicked by the wind, he wanted drift once again. Abandon dream after dream, in search of something that didn't even exist nor matter. And he hid his dull expression as much as he could from Arthur, who constantly worried about Alfred's inability to maintain one idea at a time. It was a year before the concept of owning a business with Arthur even surfaced, that Alfred suggested they join the circus. Arthur laughed it off, hoping the impulsive blue eyed boy was joking. And he was, mostly. But Alfred had ADHD, and it was hard to pin him down. Force him into some stuffy college that would only grow tedious as time went by. So Alfred merely prayed, and wished in his moments of inner musing for something interesting to happen. Little did Alfred know that his wish was going to be granted, and that, he would regret it for years to come.

The same old Sunday afternoon, which lazily stretched to evening, left him alone at Tea, Bagels, and Coffee. He watched as the desert sky turned to a pinkish orange, and glowed brilliantly on the other closed shops. He smiled a faint smirk, taking in the little beauty New Mexico had to offer him. However his smile faded as his eyes picked up a strange large man heading his way to the café, his hair platinum blond, and half his face hidden by a scarf. Alfred's eyes encouragingly, invited him in. He was so bored that the strange looking man was a welcome to his ho-hum life.

The man noticed Alfred's glance, and with violet eyes returned it as he entered the shop. He wore a long beige coat, and carried an art portfolio in the crook of his arm. He set the portfolio down onto a nearby table, and walked up to the register. Alfred was almost giddy, if not fully intimidated by the man's monstrous height. Despite such things however, he plastered on a face of profession, and stared at the man deep into his eyes.

"May I help you sir?" He spouted off in a coy tone, the determination in his cerulean blue eyes unwavering. The man smiled at Alfred, amused by his mannerisms, and then gawked at the menu for at least a minute.

"Da," He began as a gloved hand pointed at the menu. "Coffee, black." He then ordered. Alfred punched in some keys, and returned his gaze at the strange man.

"Is that all sir?" He questioned.

"Da, that is all." The man replied.

Alfred then gave him his coffee, and watched as the man settled where he left his art portfolio. He carefully pulled out a sketch book, and charcoal. Quietly, the man worked away on his creation, only taking occasional sips from his cup. Alfred observed him from afar, and tried to sneak peeks into whatever the man was drawing. He couldn't make it out from his angle however. Alfred felt like a creep for watching this man so closely, but couldn't contain his boredom any longer. He considered starting conversation with the stranger, asking him about his accent, his art, but he decided against it. If it was one thing customers hated, were intrusive employees. Or at least, that's what Arthur told him. Although Arthur viewed the shop as more of a place for solitude, for silence, like a library. Alfred loathed the comparison.

The man eventually picked up his things, and began to take leave. "Come back anytime!" Alfred called out as the man was halfway out the door. He smiled warmly, and waved at the stranger.

"I will." He mused. And so he ventured out into the darkness, and disappeared from Alfred's line of vision.

"I hope he didn't notice my staring." Alfred remarked to himself as he began to close up the café. Little did Alfred know, or could even begin to fathom, that as he shifted the window sign to: CLOSED, uninvited eyes were gazing up at him from afar. Eyes so desolate, so barren, that they complimented the dusty desert he set them upon. The burial ground for his precious birds.

**AN: **_**Why did I write this? I have no clue…It's pretty terrible, and I am pretty rusty at writing fanfictions. But after reading so many America and Russia Hetalia ones, and being disappointed from time to time, I decided to invest my time into writing opposed to reading. It's a little pretentious sounding, and pretty scattered but meh. If you want me to continue, review, otherwise I will just hoard this idea in my head.**_


	2. Uninspired

If there was one thing Ivan absolutely detested, it was silence. And he was always shrouded with the nuisance for he lived alone. He could only hear the movement of his hand, the dipping of his brush, and the sound it made as the oil scraped against the canvas. He really couldn't handle it.

The most logical thing to do would be to blast music, turn on the television, or even dare he say? Paint in public. But the noise was always so artificial to him. He was repulsed by those sound machines that tried to replicate the calming noise of an ocean. He couldn't help but cringe at the eerie foreboding stillness, in childhood it always implied that bad things were to come.

He licked dry lip to push such thoughts out of his head, he needed to concentrate. But when he would occasionally glance up at his painting from time to time, he felt disgusted and disappointed. It was lacking something. A soul perhaps…

He stood up from his spot and backed away a few feet. He stared at it intensely, grilling his work to the 3rd degree. There stood a yellow canary, sullenly looking out at the world from its bulbous wired cage. The door stood clearly open, but the canary couldn't fly away because its wing was broken. Ivan marveled at the symbolism, recognized his intention, but disapproved of it at the same time. It created a synthetic feeling for him, like he truly didn't capture the concept of the strained freedom. The torment the small yellow bird underwent, like its whole existence was just a game for the bird owner.

In a fit of sudden rage, Ivan knocked the painting off its easel. He breathed heavily as he watched the colors runs, ultimately ruining his painting. He didn't care. He lumbered away from the mess, and found himself walking down to his basement. It reeked, but the smell brought a familiar sense of comfort. Ivan never questioned his instability and many others didn't either out of fear.

Ivan sat on the last step and held himself tightly. Here, it was much noisier. Ivan could hear the dripping of water and the pains of the stairs as they growled silently to him. His fingers gently brushed the splintered wood, searching for holes to stick his thumbs in. Another childhood habit. He clucked his tongue, and abruptly stood up. With leisure in his pace, he found his fingers tracing against the cement wall. Searching for something of significance. He smiled to himself when he discovered it, a loose brick.

He pulled it out, and inside was small beaten up brown book. It was filled with various sketches he did in his best moments, emotions no artist could truly capture. He sifted through each torn page until he came across a sunflower petal he pressed in-between the pages, along with a yellow feather. Ivan traced both across his face, not leaving one detail or crevice of his flesh untouched. He smiled fondly, remembering the days he dreamed of freedom. But still he was bound by this deafening silence. And it angered him. That even though he overcame his biggest obstacles, he was still trapped to live this life of solitude.

He wanted to scream, to cry, but more importantly he wanted to hurt. To lash out on the vain ones who take their freedom for granted and overindulge in their beauty. And he always envied the birds that could fly so far away, but hated them when they would rather sit on a windowsill covered in their own shit.

Ivan remembered when he killed his first bird. He was ten or nine, his memory always fuzzy between the lapses of years. But either way, he was young, but not too young when he committed the act. He pulled out a slingshot from his back pocket, aimed, and hit the fucker as it so arrogantly flew by him. It made a loud _thunk_ noise and landed a few feet away. He ran up to it, and stared at its twitching body for a moment or so.

The poor thing was still alive, and that made him smirk. Slowly, he reached his hand down and without any second thought snapped its small neck. The silence protruded, like the brisk wind on a cold evening. And he understood it was an act of kindness to put it out of its misery, and wished he could have been cruel and kept it alive. He was lonely, even as a child, and couldn't bear suffering alone.

How many begged for their lives to be taken down here? Many. And how many times did Ivan ever so graciously grant them their wish? Too many times. But he couldn't make them suffer as he did, because he didn't find them so interesting to watch. To observe as they writhed in total agony, crying because it only took a day to break them. Sure, that's what Ivan wanted, but he never wanted it to be so easy.

He reluctantly put his book back in its spot and headed back upstairs. He then threw on his big beige coat and wrapped his white scarf around his neck. A walk would surely clear his mind and help him be able to better concentrate on his work. But maybe he would feel inspired to draw some pretty scenery or something, and so with that thought in mind he grabbed his art portfolio and headed off.

As Ivan ventured down the city streets of central Albuquerque, he noticed that there was still a store with its lights on down on the corner. He was oddly surprised by this; usually stores on Sunday afternoons were closed. As he inched closer to it, he realized it was not a store but a café called Tea, Bagels, and Coffee.

_Creative name._ He sarcastically mused in his head. But as he approached the café, he noticed a man with cerulean blue eyes staring intently at him through the shop window. His face brought a foreign sense of welcome, and Ivan felt attracted to it like a moth to a light. Slowly but surely he found himself inside the shop, facing the man who only continually smiled at him. And it was at that moment, before the man even spoke to Ivan, he realized that was the face that needed to be broken. To be in pain, stained with tears, and bruised. That this man, was the counterpart he was looking to inflict upon.

The man's words melted like honey, and Ivan finally found himself at ease. He's been waiting so long, looking with no hopes of finding, and killing person after person knowing that he was doomed for loneliness. And here was his canary, collecting dust in a dead end job. What a waste…

He sketched furiously when he was seated; creating his beautiful vision that would soon enough become a reality.

**AN: **_**So it's really odd that I had the urge to make a second chapter…Must have been inspired…I dunno this story might be cliché, but I'm glad I got some feedback on the first chapter. Thankies I dunno why but I wanted to write how Ivan viewed the world sorta kinda…..Maybe I'll update soon, although I am a very busy girl. And in all reality should be studying my ass off. **_


	3. Odd Couple

It was 7:00 in the morning and Alfred could hear the loud clanking of pans. _Oh god…that means Arthur is cooking._ His stomach groaned at the thought, and readily pinched his nose as he kicked blankets off. Alfred was sometimes known to be too blunt, and to be brutally honest, Arthur couldn't cook his way out of a paper bag. The man still insisted however, determination never leaving his eager expression as he almost blew up the kitchen numerous times. Alfred noted this need to cook grew increasingly after his pride was hurt by the Frenchmen's constant insults on his _stones_. He shook his head, and reached for his glasses on the end table.

Alfred and Arthur shared a small apartment together, and continually denied from several of their neighbors and Francis himself that they were an item. What was so strange about two men in their 20's sharing a small apartment together? Nothing. Sure, Arthur re-decorated it completely within the first week. And maybe they had tiffs, fights that usually ended with Arthur kicking Alfred out. Yelling almost too loudly for all of the neighbors to hear: _"I moved out all the way here for you, you ungrateful twit!" _

Oh the looks they were constantly given when stuck in an elevator with a fellow tenant. Sometimes Alfred thought it was funny, and played on it. Calling Arthur _sweetie _or things like _sugardaddy _in a vain attempt to embarrass the Brit. The man would only glare at Alfred, who in return shot him a sheepish smile.

They were deemed the _Odd Couple _by the old man next door. Arthur wasn't sure what to make of it, and Alfred merely laughed. Although there were other times when their living situation was too embarrassing, all the girls he missed out on because Arthur played the role of cock block.

But despite such abnormalities, they lived a pretty quiet life. Their furniture all matched and was covered in plastic, tea cozies were also randomly placed from coffee tables to on top of their television set, and rugs were placed on their wooden floors. Alfred sometimes felt like he was living with a 60 year old lady opposed to a 24 year old man. If Alfred wasn't mockingly calling Arthur _sweetie_ or _sugardaddy_, he was calling the man _old biddy. _And he wasn't sure why, but that wore on Arthur's nerves the most.

Alfred shuffled into the kitchen in pajamas with a glazed expression on his face. He was embraced by a puff of smoke that made his eyes water and throat tickle.

"Arthur! What the hell?" He coughed out as he slowly made his way to the Brit.

"Making eggs and bacon!" He excitedly shouted. Alfred peered down at the concoction; whatever was in that pan didn't even slightly resemble eggs and bacon. A look of horror appeared on his face, and he defensively backed away a few feet.

"Oh how thoughtful of you!" He laughed nervously. "But umm, I'm actually on a diet!" He then pulled out a bowl and a box of Lucky Charms.

"Since when?" Arthur critically questioned. He stared at Alfred with growing skepticism. Alfred laughed it off again.

"Since you told me that I've gained a few pounds…remember?"

"Yeah but you never listen to me! And Lucky Charms aren't healthy!" He quickly countered. Alfred averted gaze from Arthur and without second thought jumped out of the kitchen.

"No, but they're magically delicious!" He yelled out from the living room. Arthur merely grumbled and continued to cook.

When Arthur finished his breakfast, he spotted Alfred sitting on his couch scooping big spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. Arthur growled, annoyed that Alfred always disregarded the rule about eating in the living room. But decided against saying anything, the twit was too busy watching Saturday morning cartoons to care. Arthur reluctantly plopped himself next to Alfred and reached for the remote and changed it to the news.

"Hey I was watching that!" Alfred whined.

"You don't eat my food; you don't get to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." Arthur wagged his finger and watched in delight as Alfred pouted.

"I hate the news, it's so depressing. Not to mention boring." Alfred complained as the old newscaster explained current politics.

"Deal with it." Arthur retorted. Suddenly their phone rang and Alfred leapt up to answer it. They only had one house phone and it was on a long curly cord, neither saw the necessity of having another one for they both didn't make frequent calls. Like Alfred, Arthur also had a strained relationship with his family and really didn't keep up with them. But from time to time, Matthew called and Arthur assumed it was him now. However Arthur wasn't listening in on the conversation for an update on the Gilbert Beilschmidt case came up.

"It was just last year in '96 that Gilbert Beilschmidt went missing. His brother Governor Ludwig has searched to the ends of the earth to find his missing brother, and it seems as though he has been located. Unfortunately, not alive." The newscaster coolly reported as the television flashed a picture of the rambunctious albino. Arthur leaned in closely and listened intently, he had been following this case since it first appeared on the media. Many believed the irresponsible Beilschmidt brother messed with the wrong people, or just went missing on his own accord. The man was charged with multiple DUI's, and was always arrested with possessions of drugs. He made his politician brother look very bad, and Arthur always wondered if it was a part of some strange conspiracy that the man suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth. "His body was unearthed last Sunday in a field in Colorado Springs, miles and miles away from his original home in New York."

That, that was bizarre. The newscaster continued to report in grueling detail the condition the in which body was found in. Forensics reported he was beaten to death with a blunt object, and that there were feathers glued onto his pale flesh that slowly deteriorated in the ground. Arthur felt sick to his stomach; this wasn't a conspiracy after all. It sounded like the work of a disturbed person, the work of a serial killer. Jesus, he could just imagine everyone up in arms about the exciting news. Especially out here, Colorado really wasn't that far from New Mexico. Although Arthur dismissed the possibility of any serial killer being out here, it was too farfetched. But he could just imagine that this would become the new conversation starter with each customer, as they would buy a newspaper by the register and remark how peculiar and disturbing the whole things was.

He then wondered if Alfred should hear such news, he knew how jumpy the boy could be, even if Alfred constantly claimed to be brave. And sometimes Alfred's imagination was too wild to Arthur's liking. His current thing was the Russian man who came to the shop on Sunday evenings; Arthur couldn't take Alfred's crazy theories much longer. He never once carried a full conversation with the man, but already claimed that the platinum blond hair stranger was a Russian communist spy. When Arthur challenged Alfred's strange theory, asking questions like: Why would he want to spy on our shop? Why would he come to a place like New Mexico? What's there to gain? Alfred would coyly respond with how New Mexico was the place where the atom bomb was created in, and how the Russian wasn't there to spy on their shop, just lay low. Arthur imagined that Alfred already gave Kiku and Francis an earful about this strange man, covering them head to toe in bizarre theories that really made no sense.

Arthur did find the description of the man to be the oddest part of Alfred's story, and sometimes questioned if he was even real. Not that he viewed Alfred as crazy or was known to pathologically lie; he would just catch that dull expression hidden behind his exuberant eyes. He knew that Alfred was already bored with the business, and knew that Alfred wanted to jump to something else. But Arthur wasn't going to let him this time; it was a pain to start the business in the first place. Alfred's dad actually disowned him, and Arthur knew after getting the loan from his family that there was no going back now. That because Alfred refused to fill his controlling father's mold of becoming a lawyer, that made all the difference. No one ever defied Jackson Jones, and Alfred deliberately did. Arthur stuck it out with Alfred because he truly did care for the idiot, and almost felt like he had to take care of him. Not that Alfred was incapable of such; he just kinda lacked common sense. He had a naivety about him, and was too trusting sometimes and that's what worried Arthur the most.

Alfred reappeared into the living room with his shoulders at a slump. Arthur cocked his head curiously as Alfred reclaimed his seat. "Mattie." He answered before Arthur could ask.

"What did he want?" Arthur questioned. Alfred sighed and leaned back onto the couch. Arthur could tell that Alfred was irritated, and maybe, a bit sad. He wouldn't dare point it out however.

"Mom and dad are coming down to Santa Fe next week and he wants me to come down and reconcile with them." Alfred huffed out as his eyes lazily stared up at the ceiling.

"Well, are you going to?" Arthur pressed. Alfred lunged back up and faced Arthur. He could see the disdain in his eyes, and it was obvious his answer was no. "I can't blame you if you don't want to, just wondering…" Arthur added. Alfred leaned back and combed his hair with hand out of frustration.

Arthur then sat up and began to clean up Alfred's area. "We're closing the shop a bit earlier than scheduled tonight." He changed the subject. Alfred quirked a brow.

"Why?" He asked as he followed the Brit into the kitchen.

"We're having a poker game with that cocky frog, he challenged me and I accepted it." Arthur smiled slyly, Alfred smirked back.

"Cool, I'll see if Kiku will want to join."

"We'll need to stock up on some snacks, maybe I can make some scones and-"

"No that's okay! I will go to the store and get some things while you go and open the shop! No need to strain yourself!" Alfred interrupted and waved his hands furiously. Arthur glared at him, but decided to relinquish the budding fight. Alfred had a point; there was no time for cooking. So Alfred dropped Arthur off at the café, and headed down to the grocery store. He finally had the chance to stock up on some junk without having to hear a lecture from Arthur.

He rushed into the store and speedily grabbed things and threw them in his cart. Chips, soda, candy, cookies, the basic food groups in Alfred's pyramid. Alfred was rushing so he wouldn't end up leaving Arthur alone to deal with the Saturday morning customers; they for some reason were the most ornery. But in the midst of his speed shopping, his cart bumped into someone else's. His face turned red and he spun his head around spilling a million apologies at once. But to his surprise, the man he had bumped into was none other than his Sunday customer.

"Oh hey I am so sorr-hey it's you!" Alfred's apologetic tone changed to its jovial familiarity. The large man smiled at him, and nodded.

"Da, of all places." He added. Alfred looked into his cart and observed that it was filled with bird supplies.

"Have a pet bird?" He casually inquired. The man looked down at his items and almost appeared sad. Almost.

"Used to, he died." He stated gloomily. "But not to worry, I am going to get a new one real soon."

"Well that's good! I mean it's not good your last one died, but it's good that you're getting a new one…you know…" Alfred felt incredibly awkward. The man only grunted in response. "Well, I will see you tomorrow right?" He beamed at the man.

"Yes, of course." He replied. Alfred then began to turn away.

"See'ya dude!" He waved as he walked off.

"Goodbye Alfred." The man chirped in.

It wasn't until Alfred got into his car that he questioned how the man knew his name. It wasn't like they had name tags, and Alfred couldn't recall a time he introduced himself to the man. He was to say the least, a little spooked by it. But decided not to put too much thought into it, deciding the man probably heard someone call him that or maybe he answered the phone while working and introduced himself then. Whatever the case, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on current things. Like taking the frog to the poor house.

**AN: **_**Holy shit I updated again, and continued to neglect to study. I wonder what is up with me. Maybe I have been missing writing. I dunno…anyway, review, and give me your honest opinion. It all helps you know. Well have a good day.**_

_**Oh and I decided this story takes place in 1997. Why? Cuz it just seemed right. **_


	4. Wild Night

His red bleary eyes were no longer defiant or determined, but broken and distant. He was curled up into a ball on the cold cement floor, weeping like a baby. He felt so goddamn sick, laying in his own urine, stomach hollowed out.

What did he do to deserve this? To be treated this way? The man knew he was a troublemaker, a loudmouth, and a fuck up. But for fuck sake, no human being should be treated this way! He sucked in his lips as his breath hitched; his own sobs were only new forms of torture. He used to think he was invincible, untouchable, and strong. What happened to that man he used to be?

His white hair was thinning from the lack of nutrients, and his skin was gleaming with blisters and bruises. He could see his reflection in the mirror that was placed parallel to him, another form of mockery.

Slowly, he began to ease up off of the floor. His legs wobbled and his hands shook as he hunched up to face the mirror. The man he once knew was gone. Replaced with nothing but a ghost, a caged bird….

He screamed. He screamed so loud that he was sure _he _heard it. He then pushed the mirror away from his sight and listened to it shatter into a million pieces. Suddenly he could hear heavy footsteps headed his way.

_Good. _He mused. _Do your worse. Let me die. _And just like that, with the swing of a door, his life was relinquished. And finally, he could rest.

xxxxxxxx

The silence crept around Alfred's ears as he stared blankly through the shop window. His lips formed a line, and he sighed. He woke up with a wine induced headache, and felt sick to his stomach. Not imagining just how far the poker game would go, he woke up that morning hanging off half of the couch with a chip bowl over his head. Everything felt so damn fuzzy, and as he slowly pushed himself off the floor he found the living room to be in total disarray.

The poker table was flipped over, the couch cushions thrown in various spots, and the curtains were well on the ground. _Were we robbed? _Alfred initially thought as he took in his surroundings. He soon realized everything was fuzzy because his glasses were missing, along with his shirt…? Alfred soon groped around the floor in a desperate search for his glasses. He finally located them in the furthest corner of the room. What the fuck did they do last night?

God, Arthur was going to scream like a little girl when he sees this place. Speaking of which, where was Arthur? Alfred dragged his feet to Arthur's room, he probably had a worse headache then he did. Somebody like Arthur should **never **drink. Alfred reached Arthur's room and pushed open the door ever so quietly. What he saw disturbed him more than anything.

There was Arthur alright, but who was holding him in their manly arms was none other than the frog himself! Alfred quickly shut the door and hurriedly headed into the shower and began to get ready for work. He did not want to be there when they both woke up. So he got dressed, left Arthur a mocking note, and flew out the front door before either of them could stir from their slumber. He would be a liar if he said he didn't find it funny, even if it was a tad disturbing as well.

So there Alfred stood, behind the counter dully waiting for customers to enter his shop. He wondered what Arthur was going to say to him. If the man would altogether deny it or just act like it never happened. God how was Francis going to react? Alfred hoped to God the man would spare him details. Suddenly the shop door rang and entered Alfred's little Japanese friend from the comic shop Kiku.

"Hey dude! Wild night huh?" Alfred excitedly yelled out as Kiku approached the counter.

"Hello Alfred-san. Yes, it was quite…the eye opener." Kiku almost appeared embarrassed as he scanned the store for any customers who may be listening in but discovered no one in the shop. "Slow day?"

"Man, no one comes in on a Sunday! Except that Russian guy I was telling you about.." Alfred combed his hair with his fingers and heaved a sigh. "I have the worse headache man. What in the hell happened last night?"

"Well.." Kiku hesitantly began as he twiddled his thumbs. "You, Arthur, and Francis were a bit intoxicated by the end of the poker game and began challenging each other to different contest to prove who was the strongest…" Kiku's eyes flickered away from Alfred's and remained glued on the today's special sign.

"And I totally won right?" Alfred interjected. Kiku turned red. "Right?"

"Well you banged your head against the table and passed out. And then what happened between Arthur and Francis…I shall not repeat. I left quickly after."

"Dude! I saw them in the bed asleep together!" Alfred shouted not understanding why Kiku was being so discreet about this, no one was in the store. Kiku jumped back and his face paled as the image entered his head.

"Do you…think?" He quietly questioned.

"I hope not. But if they did, it's funny." Alfred retorted. Before Kiku could question the humor in the situation, the shop door chimed and entered a huge man with platinum blond hair. "Oh hey bro!" Alfred called out as the Russian man headed towards the counter. Kiku was stunned to see that the Russian actually existed; his eyes studied the towering man up and down.

"Hello comrade," The man responded in a thick Russian accent.

"Excuse me," Kiku bowed politely. "I should be going back to my shop. I will see you another time Alfred-san."

"Hey, maybe I can come over your place tonight to avoid Arthur?" Alfred asked with puppy dog eyes.

"Well I don't know, it is rather messy and…"

"Great! I will head right over after I close up the shop!" Alfred interrupted. Kiku cringed at how Alfred invited himself, but didn't say anything. He was a bit of a pushover and someone like Alfred was pretty pushy. He disregarded the rude behavior Alfred displayed and nodded.

"Okay, I will see you then." He then quietly headed out the door, not taking his eyes off of the Russian man. There was something, well, strange about his disposition. He gently shut the door and trotted off to his shop.

"Sorry about that man, he's my store buddy. What can I get you?"

"Store buddy?" The Russian artist inquired.

"Yeah he owns the comic shop three stores down. We just had a mad game of poker last night and were talking about it." Alfred cheerily explained.

"Sounds like fun." The Russian was seething inside; he didn't like this Japanese man at all.

"Oh yeah! But things got way too crazy. So what can I get you?"

"Coffee. Black." He responded with stern eyes. Alfred of course didn't pick up on the Russian's change in attitude and began making the coffee.

xxxxxx

Kiku hung around his shop even after it was closed. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't feel comfortable with that hulking man being alone with Alfred. Perhaps Kiku was being discriminatory towards the man's height and strange appearance, but despite such, Kiku wasn't leaving until he saw that man leave.

The man did have some sort of dark presence, a bone chilling aura that told Kiku he should be weary of him. He wondered if Alfred sensed it at all? Probably not, the man was pretty dense. So Kiku sat there quietly in his shop, occasionally stealing a glance out the window to be sure nothing bad was going down.

What was it about this man that made him feel so suspicious? Kiku couldn't put his finger on it, but he was almost positive that there was reason why he felt this way. He cleaned the store and re-organized the comics as he waited patiently for Alfred to close the shop. He almost considered calling Arthur until he remembered what happened last night. He cringed at the thought.

That's when Kiku noticed the Russian man walking past his store, his eyes filled with disdain and glaring intensely at Kiku. Kiku returned the glare with a blank one and watched as the man disappeared into the horizon. He would have to discuss this with Alfred.

xxxxx

Ivan was furious with his newest bird. The rage was imminent in his painting as he basically scraped the paint brush against the canvas. That Jap was going to get in the way of his plan. Fuck. He stared at his painting briefly as he stopped to contemplate what must be done. Well, obviously he would have to get Alfred at a very vulnerable time. One where he knew the man would be alone and nowhere near that nosey friend of his.

"_Store buddy_." The Russian spat as he took another brush stroke. What kind of term of endearment? Why must _his _pet be so blind? He was to be Ivan's obviously, and the boy should realize that. Ivan stepped away from his painting feeling disgusted with the work and headed towards the bathroom. He needed a shower.

As the hot water sloshed over him, Ivan thought about his last pet. His Gilbird. The man was not an easy one to get, but his checkered past proved to be of use as Ivan held a promise of drugs over the man's head. He almost felt too good when he watched the news report about the police discovering his body, and laughed drunkenly when his brother held that press conference.

When were they going to realize that the man died on his own terms? Ivan merely granted his wish…Ivan slid down the tile and stared out blankly as the hot water beat against his skin. He couldn't get Alfred just yet, he needed more time. The man combed his wet hair with his fingers and thought deeply about this. He licked his lips as he began to think about how much fun he was going to have with his new bird.

And then, Ivan will finally have inspiration to paint again.

_**AN: **__Just noticed a huge fluke with the time continuum…This story takes place in '97, but Harry Potter wasn't around yet…So it's a little conflicting with the first chapter where Arthur sends Francis the Harry Potter frogs..Sorry I took FOREVER to update. I had a lot of shit going on…sorry guys…R&R!_


	5. Someone

Arthur heaved out a sigh of relief as soon as he finished cleaning up the disaster Alfred left him alone with. He grumbled to himself as he reflected on Alfred's small sense of common courtesy. He knew how Arthur always suffered from awful hangovers; the least the man could do was straighten up the living room a little. That man had some nerve leaving him with this mess..

Not to mention the mocking note he left him. God, as soon as Arthur saw it he crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. _Good morning sweetie, I see your frog turned into a prince. Yuk yuk yuk! _And why did he need to include the corny laughing? He must have congratulated himself on his so called _cleverness_. Jesus, Alfred had no idea how traumatized the Brit truly was.

Anybody would be when waking up to that smelly hairball of a man. And god how arrogant could the man be? He sees that Arthur is pale white, on the verge of screaming bloody murder, and all he could do is wink at him? If throwing him out the place yelling many obscenities, threatening to curse him, along with chucking scones at the man wasn't enough to keep him out, then Arthur would be stunned.

The Brit flopped onto the couch and sighed again. Last time he ever invites that frog to a game of poker….or drink wine. He had to of drugged it. And how come Alfred didn't stop this mess from happening? Oh wait, that's right…he banged his head on the poker table and passed out. Twit…That was the only amusing thing about that night.

Arthur leaned further into the couch in an attempt to unwind; he was too stressed out to do so however and remained uncomfortable. Alfred called informing him that he would be staying the night at Kiku's and to not worry about him. This way Arthur could have some alone time to stew on his thoughts so to speak. God he hoped that big mouth didn't tell Kiku, he wouldn't be able to face the little Japanese man if he did. In fact, how in the hell was he going to get to his own shop with that frog living next door? Arthur shook his head and dismissed such troublesome thoughts.

"I will cross that bridge when I get there…" He said aloud to himself as he fumbled with the remote. The television made a blip noise and right away flashed to another update about the Beilschmidt case. Arthur was glad Alfred wasn't here to watch this, the man was overly paranoid sometimes and Arthur wasn't sure how he would react to hearing about the gruesome case. Even Arthur was repulsed by every grueling detail about the condition the man's body was found in. The scars, the lacerations, broken teeth, and yet the feathers were glued on ever so beautifully, perfectly and meticulously…

Arthur was no expert in forensics or murder whatsoever, but he did have some sense of intuition when it ultimately came down to it. Arthur somewhat suspected, and this was just a guess, that the killer prized his victim. Not like a trophy or a toy, but maybe more so like some kind of pet. What made Arthur think this? He wasn't completely sure, and really what he mostly heard was hearsay and news reports that brought up other past victims that could possibly relate to this murder. But Arthur really was no detective, and he usually didn't care for such distasteful news, but he felt an attraction to this case as soon as it surfaced the media. He only thought it was a matter of time before something dreadful happened to the reckless Beilschmidt brother, however he didn't expect it to be _this _dreadful. The Brit however, comprehended the killer's intention. The body was unearthed almost _too_ easily, like as if he wanted this man's corpse to be found. Maybe he wasn't like the Zodiac killer, who tried to gain recognition for his killings through the media, but this person wanted the body to be found. Arthur was almost sure of it.

In the midst of all of these thoughts, the phone rang. Arthur mumbled to himself about getting no bloody rest, and walked into the kitchen. "Hello?" The British man greeted. However, there was no return greeting. Arthur quirked his gigantic eyebrow and waited a second or two. "Hello?" Still nothing.

Arthur was sure he could hear breathing, as inaudible as the sound was. His heart froze in his chest and he could feel the fear creeping up his spine. "Look frog if you're going to just call me to breathe on the other end, then you have issues!" He yelled more so pathetically than sternly. There was no reply, and with that Arthur slammed the phone into the receiver more spooked then anything.

"Nothing to worry about Arthur old boy…Just that damn frog being a creep…" Although Arthur wasn't so sure that was Francis's style. But before Arthur could walk back to the living room, he could hear someone knocking on the door. He froze in mid step as he listened to the light tapping against the wood. His heart was in his throat at this point, as he slowly but surely headed towards the door. "You're being ridiculous.." Yet he couldn't help but want to panic, even if it was illogical.

"Coming!" Arthur carefully called out as he pulled out one of the umbrellas by the door and slowly raised it over his head. Arthur gradually opened the door to find that no one was there. He paled as he opened the door wider to further investigate. The cool fall evening wind brushed passed him and he could feel chills from inside and out. Arthur shut the door and shrugged.

"Hi Arthu-"

"Ahhhh!" Arthur screamed as he whacked the stranger behind him with an umbrella repeatedly. After the third or fourth assault, Arthur stopped in mid-whack to see that it was no random serial killer in his house, but none other than Matthew, Alfred's twin. Arthur was speechless for a moment as he stared in awe at the Canadian. "Matthew! Are you okay?" He finally asked frantically as he dropped the umbrella.

"Uhnn…" The Canadian was out cold at this point.

"Oh bollocks! Here, let me help you up!" Arthur hastily began to drag the unconscious Canadian to the couch. He placed the man on the extra firm sofa as delicately as he could. "Oh what to do…I know! I'll make some tea!" Arthur then scurried off to the kitchen in hopes Matthew wouldn't be too angry with him when he would wake up.

XXX

The scent of raw fish tickled Alfred's nose as he sat on the floor across from Kiku. The Japanese man ate quietly and almost too perfectly as his chop sticks wrapped around his sushi rolls effortlessly. Alfred however found himself breaking the bands of seaweed that secured the salmon and cream cheese combo causing the sushi contents to spill all over the plate. He grimaced as he listened to his stomach growl, wondering why Kiku enjoyed sushi so much.

"So," Kiku spoke up out of the blue. Alfred curiously snapped his head at Kiku, surprised he broke the deafening silence he seemed to enjoy so much. Kiku felt immensely awkward for doing so, but knew he needed to discuss the bad vibes he picked up from his customer earlier. "Alfred-san, there is something I wanted to bring to your attention about this man you are seeing."

Alfred was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment as he cocked his head and gaped at Kiku. "Who Arthur? Out of all people I would have never thought you would have seen us _that way_. Sure, I understand the neighbors thinking that, and what happened with Francis and Arthur in all may raise some suspicion, but I swear to God it's not like that! We're just close friends honest!" Alfred defensively explained with unneeded hand movements.

"No! That's not what I mean at all! I guess I should have phrased that better…" Kiku then grabbed his cup of green tea and took careful sips not taking his eyes off of Alfred.

"Oh…" Alfred perked up a bit embarrassed. "Then what did you mean bro?"

Kiku gently put down his cup and cleared his throat. "That Russian man who was at your shop earlier, I do not trust him."

"My Sunday customer? Please Kiku, that man is harmless. I mean I guess I can see why you would be a little intimidated by him considering his freakish height, but really he is nothing to worry about." Alfred's cerulean blue eyes told Kiku that he was exaggerating a little, but it wasn't like Alfred to confess when he was afraid of someone.

"Just be weary of him Alfred-san," Kiku paused for a moment as he recollected his encounter with the strange man. "I caught him glaring at me today as he passed my shop."

"He's probably just one of those guys who always have that permanent scowl." Alfred defended as he continued to fight with his sushi.

"Perhaps, but please be careful."

"What's with the sudden worry? Man, I fight like a tiger! I am not afraid of some random Russian guy. Especially if he gives me no reason to be afraid, sure it was a little weird he knew my name and everything…but I mean who doesn't? I am pretty popular." Alfred justified as he gave up on mastering the art of using chop sticks and stabbed his sushi instead. Kiku watched in disapproval over Alfred's misuse of his chop sticks but decided to not comment on it.

"He knew your name?" He curiously inquired, a little spooked by the fact.

"Yeah, it was slightly bizarre running into him at the store, the dude had nothing but bird supplies in his cart."

"Alfred-san, I believe this a red flag."

"Pfft, Kiku if you are worried about some random Russian dude knowing my name then you will not survive out in the real world my friend. Like getting mugged by a stranger who doesn't know your name! Besides, I probably answered the phone at work and somehow my name probably slipped out in conversation." Alfred then sloppily dipped whatever was left of his sushi roll into his soy sauce and shoved the chunk of fish into his mouth. "You're worrying over nothing." He added in-between bites.

"You are probably right." Kiku somberly agreed ultimately deciding there was no getting through to Alfred. He then picked up his plate and sauntered over to the sink. When he returned he spotted Alfred sprawled on the floor chewing on his chop sticks.

"Hey Kiku?" He quietly spoke up.

"Yes Alfred-san?"

"Do you ever just find yourself loathing the fact that your life has become so…routine?" He randomly asked.

"I like routine." Kiku retorted as he picked up Alfred's plates off of the table. Alfred huffed and turned onto his side.

"So does Arthur.." He groaned. Kiku placed Alfred's plate into the sink but didn't wash it, instead he found himself sitting next to Alfred wondering what he meant by that.

"Is there something going on between you and Arthur-san? I mean not in the way you thought I meant earlier. Is there…confliction between you two?" Kiku questioned.

"….No. I just get sick of seeing the same old thing day after day." Alfred reasoned as he sat up. Kiku nodded, knowing Alfred's tendencies to abruptly leave places and jump from idea to idea based on what Arthur told him.

"Oh I see."

"I don't know Kiku, maybe I am just crazy. I just can't stand being in one place for too long. It drives me nuts!" He exclaimed while using more unneeded hand movements. Kiku tilted his head for a moment, understanding his friend's predicament.

"So you wish to move again?" Kiku pressed. Alfred sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I just want change."

"From what?"

"From this routine bullshit I found myself in! Sure I love the shop, and get along greatly with Arthur, for the most part…but I just…I just want something different ya'know? Something exciting! Something that will remind me why living matters!" Alfred always had that tendency to get too caught up in whatever he was talking about that whoever he was talking too would find themselves overwhelmed. Kiku was silent for a moment as he soaked in Alfred's words. He wasn't sure if he should encourage or discourage his friend from jumping onto yet another bandwagon of a half-baked idea. "It's whatever," Alfred finally spoke up. "I wouldn't leave Arthur hanging like that anyway."

His words hung heavy in the air. Kiku really wanted to say something to Alfred, but really couldn't think of the right words when it came down to it. After a few minutes of nothing but sheer silence, Alfred stood up and walked towards Kiku's TV cabinet.

"Hey let's watch a scary movie!" He excitedly changed the subject. Kiku smirked and headed towards his prize collection of Japanese horror films. However, even though Alfred dropped the subject, Kiku couldn't help but notice it was still on Alfred's mind.

XXX

"I am terribly sorry I really am!" The frazzled Brit continued to babble as he poured Matthew yet another cup of Early Grey. The Canadian waved his hand in a dismissing matter.

"Really it's okay." The timid man said in his mousey demeanor. "You wouldn't be the first person to not notice me coming into the room." Matthew added sadly.

"But I would be the first to beat you with an umbrella?"

"Well…yes you would be the first. Why were you so worked up anyway?" Matthew asked curiously. Although after knowing Arthur for years through Alfred, he came to understand that not all of the man's marbles were there. Alfred told him that one time he had stumbled upon Arthur talking to himself, something about a mint bunny Alfred claimed. Matthew didn't believe every story Alfred managed to pull out of his ass, but he knew the Brit to be eccentric and accepted it without any question. Him screaming like a banshee while beating you with an umbrella was only half surprising to Matthew.

"Well it's a tad silly." Arthur blushed as he readjusted himself in his plastic covered recliner. "I guess I am just a bit spooked by this whole serial killer business."

"Serial killer business? You mean the Beilschmidt case?" Matthew countered.

"Yes! You've been watching it too?" Arthur was excited now; he had been yearning to discuss this case with someone for a while now.

"Yeah, I actually knew Gilbert Beilschmidt at one time in my life." Matthew sullenly explained. Arthur leaned in immensely intrigued.

"You did?"

"Yes, it was a long time ago back when dad sent us to private school. Alfred never met him being a grade above me, but Gilbert was in my 6th grade class." Matthew took another sip and smiled fondly as he remembered how crazy Gilbert was. "He was essentially my best friend, but god he was so rowdy and rambunctious that he eventually got kicked out."

"Did you keep being friends?" Arthur inquisitively asked.

"Yeah, for a few years we kept contact. I never had him over at the house because of the crowd he was involved with would have made my father livid. Eventually he just faded away like all good friends do and I seldom ever heard from him. I kinda forgot about him until he got in the lime light of the news…and then of course when he went missing and eventually when his body was discovered."

"I am sorry that must have been hard for you, since you knew him and all." Arthur paused for a moment. "Scone?" He then offered Matthew a tray of his famous scones.

"Umm, no I am good. Thank you!" Matthew politely pushed the tray away and took another sip of tea. "It is very sad he had to die the way he did…It's just so…brutal I guess. How mangled his body was, I mean I can only imagine how his brother is handling it…If anything that terrible ever happened to Alfred, I don't know what I would do." The last thing Matthew said left a bitter taste in Arthur's mouth as the Brit imagined how hard it would be to find anyone he ever gave a damn about in that condition.

"Speaking of Alfred," Arthur knew he needed to have this talk with Matthew for Alfred. "You're here to convince him to make up with your parents I am assuming?"

Matthew was silent for a moment but found himself nodding. "Yeah, I guess I am just hoping he and dad can put this stupid fight behind them and we can act like a family again."

"You do realize that Alfred isn't the only one being stubborn right?"

The timid blond twirled his hair around his finger and sighed. He knew very well how much of a pain in the ass his father was, but he also knew deep down inside that he missed Alfred terribly. Perhaps not everyone could see it, but Matthew could and he wanted Alfred to see it too.

"I know how my father is Arthur," He huffed out. "I just think this family feud has gone on long enough. Alfred has proved himself right? He's sticking to this business idea of his, and it's doing okay right? Maybe dad will get his head out of his ass and realize Alfred can be responsible." Arthur wasn't so sure, and knew how Alfred felt about his father.

"Well try and convince him again Matthew," Arthur suggested as he picked up their tea cups. "Maybe he will finally crack and give it a chance."

"When is Alfred getting back anyway?"

"He'll more than likely go straight to work from Kiku's, you could probably catch him before he goes on break at three tomorrow. You're welcome to stay the night chap." Arthur then lumbered off into the kitchen and eyed the phone nervously. He then headed back into the living room and approached Matthew. "Can I ask you something Matthew?"

"Yes?"

"Did you quite possibly call before you knocked on the door?" Arthur curiously prodded the Canadian. Matthew stared at Arthur for a moment and squinted his face out of confusion.

"No, sorry I didn't give you a fair warning I was heading over." Matthew timidly apologized. Arthur wildly shook his head and waved his hand.

"It's no worries really…" Arthur felt the fear return to the back of his mind but he dismissed it figuring it had to be Francis or wrong number or something.

Or someone. Someone who would more than likely call again.

XXX

_**AN: Sorry to end this chapter so lamely…I just figured this is longer than I usually write and good enough to post…So really the plot begins to unfold at this point. I am not sure if you guys are getting antsy and impatient, but you have to understand that personally from my writer's perspective that I do not rush into things.**_

_**I read some fanfics on here that right away jump to the climax opposed to building the suspense up. I know you are probably thinking: What suspense? They are having random conversations and inner-musings…Well everything I have written so far will later build up to what's going to happen. I am setting the stage so to speak..**_

_**I also got a review that threw me off a bit. I know my summary is very vague, but I am not sure if I left you guys under certain impressions? I also want you peeps to understand that Ivan isn't a fly off the handle serial killer; he's the type to plan everything out very carefully and precisely. Speaking of Ivan, I will probably have more of him in the next chapter. Thanks for the support so far, R&R!**_


	6. Patience

Arthur decided he was going to stop watching the news for awhile. His dreams that night were plagued with nothing but Gilbert Beilschmidt's dying face and cries of agony. Arthur twisted and turned the entire night. He awoke several times to find himself in a cold sweat and shaking.

Arthur became restless as he watched the Albino lay beaten and bruised on a concrete floor. Sobs echoed throughout the room and the smell of piss and blood perpetrated in the air. The dream was short, only lasting what felt like a split second but still shook Arthur none the less. Just to see the man lying there, broken, was unbearable.

Arthur blamed himself for having this horrid dream. It was his sudden obsession with this man's death that caused this sleepless night. It was four in the morning when he finally gave up sleeping altogether and headed into the kitchen. It was dark and dreary in their usually cute kitchen. Arthur shuffled his feet and quietly opened up the bottom cabinet to get the kettle out.

Matthew was sound asleep in Alfred's room; hopefully he didn't hear Arthur's screams of fright from the last dream. It was just…well unpleasant. Even if it was the same image over and over again, each dream revealed a new detail he hadn't noticed before. And each dream seemed to drag on a little longer.

Arthur began to boil the water and stiffly sat down at the table. Despite his robe being tightly wrapped around his lanky figure, he still had the chills. He felt unusually anxious.

"I wonder if this is how Alfred feels." He said silently to himself. He started to feel bad; he always gave Alfred a great deal of grief for his irrational fears. But now the shoe was on the other foot, and although Arthur knew his fear of this new killer was nothing more but a media scare, he couldn't help but be nervous. He wondered if Alfred heard about it yet. The two of them haven't really had the chance to have a full out conversation for the past few days. In fact they barely even saw each other at times. It almost made Arthur sad to think about it.

But the business demanded a lot of attention in order for it to stay afloat. Alfred worked Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays. Arthur worked Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. They shared a shift on Saturday because of how busy it gets and that was really the only time they lingered around each other. The two talked to each other in the mornings though, and sometimes they had back and fourths in the evenings. But Arthur couldn't help but sense Alfred was avoiding him.

As soon as the kettle whistled, the phone rang. Arthur jumped out of his seat and switched glances between the kettle and the white cord phone. He hurriedly grabbed a pot holder and took the kettle off of the burner all the while watching the phone.

"Who could be calling this early?" Arthur questioned annoyed. He placed the kettle down and gradually inched his way to the phone. Whoever it was really wanted him to answer, he sighed and reluctantly picked it up. "Hello?" He almost said in a whisper.

There was silence. Arthur's eyes darted nervously as he heard the low crackle of static and the rhythm of breathing. His hand tightly grabbed the phone as he remained rigid. "Is this Alfred?" He found himself murmuring. "If it is, you're not funny." But there was no response. Arthur slammed the phone into the receiver and shuddered.

Arthur was hoping to God it was some lame prank from Alfred or perhaps the frog being creepier than usual. He slumped back down into his chair and tugged his hair back. The stress was eminent in his disheveled appearance. However Arthur knew it was silly to make a big stink about a random crank caller. He sighed and retreated back to preparing his tea.

He would just bring it to Alfred's attention and maybe-_hopefully_-Alfred would just fess up with an arrogant laugh that he was the mastermind behind the random phone calls.

XXX

The Russian dragged his heavy boots down those wooden stairs again. They creaked and cried with each new step. His gloved hands wrapped tightly around the steel railing as he walked down. On his last step he gingerly reached for the light switch on his left and flicked it on.

He was greeted by the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. Slowly but surely Ivan made his way to the middle of the room. He sharply inhaled the musty scent and relished in the memories it brought. On quiet nights he re-lived those moments. The screams, the tears, oh and the pain.

From childhood experience Ivan learned that the only way to evoke emotion was through pain. He never figured out how to really engage in emotional relationships without assaulting the person he was with. One could imagine Ivan was always alone, except when he boarded with a Lithuanian man when he still lived in Russia. His name was Toris, and he was easy to dominate.

The man was in love with his sister Natalya, and Ivan fed on that to manipulate the man. He painted his face with bruises, brush strokes of scars, and blended the blood to create Earthy tones. Ivan felt that Toris, his first bird, was the weakest. But despite such, Toris still managed to escape. Ivan was never able to find him again.

This always angered Ivan to the point of lashing out whatever was closest to him. He broke so many belongings of his, and silently wept to himself. Why would anyone want to leave him? It baffled Ivan to no end.

Ivan felt unusually warm in this room and slowly shred each piece of clothing like layers of skin. He eased himself onto the cool cement floor and laid there naked. He traced circles with the layers of dust under him. His new pet would be better than the others. He knew it. He needed somebody strong, stubborn, and bored. Ivan bore holes in the back of Alfred's head when he sat there sketching. He found himself creating blind contours of Alfred, and the wings he would break.

Hopefully Alfred will last longer than his last pet. He chuckled when he thought of the Prussian. His pale hair matted with dried blood, his skin cut up, and his once fiery red eyes became dull and lifeless. Ivan figured Alfred would be a challenge. And as an artist, you should always challenge yourself.

His father taught him that.

Ivan closed his eyes for a moment as he envisioned his plan coming to life. He just needed to get Alfred at a time he would be vulnerable and alone. The Japanese man would be a problem and maybe the British man too. Alfred was always alone on Sundays, but Ivan scrapped the plan of abducting Alfred during that shift because of the Japanese man. He knew Ivan was up to something.

No matter. What Ivan has learned from years of experience, is that there will always be an opportunity. He just has to be patient. Ivan groaned and leisurely pushed himself up. He smirked as the thought entered his mind. Alfred will be his. He just had to be patient.

XXX

Alfred impatiently drummed his fingers on the counter as an old customer gawked at the menu. "What is it you serve here again?" The old woman questioned.

"Tea, coffee, and bagels. It's literally the title."

"Oh yes. Why that reminds me of a time when I was 23 and…" The elderly woman continued to hash out some old story that really had no moral or point. Alfred sighed as he glanced at the clock and realized he had twenty minutes to lunch. Suddenly the door chimed and Alfred noticed that it was Matthew and Arthur entering the shop. Alfred inwardly groaned to himself already knowing what Matthew's visit was about.

"Excuse me." Arthur said politely to the old woman. "I need to talk to my co-worker here. He'll be back to take your order in a minute." Arthur then pushed Alfred into the back and left Matthew with the old woman. Alfred began to glare at Arthur until he observed how bad he looked.

"Artie what gives? And man you look terrible, was the frog that rough last night?" Alfred snickered. Arthur shot him a dead look and Alfred stopped.

"No! I kicked that git out! No thanks to you Alfred!"

"Hey I am not the type to get in the way of looove." Alfred laughed some more.

"Ugg whatever I am not here to talk about that with you." Arthur hissed.

"It's about Matthew right?"

"Well, yes." Arthur cleared his throat and continued. "Oh don't give me that look! At least hear him out before shutting him out Alfred."

"Fine! But can I take my lunch early? I feel like screaming at this old lady. And I haven't eaten anything decent in hours!" Alfred whined. Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah I will cover you. I need to get out of that blasted flat anyway."

"Yeah man you look awful."

"Thanks. I appreciate your flattery." Arthur spat.

"Cool man I'll see you later!" Alfred threw off his apron and began to head out.

"Wait Alfred!" Arthur had to clear something up first.

"Yeah what is it?"

"Have you been umm…prank calling me?"

"What? No, do I look like I am 12?" Alfred asked skeptically.

"Well since you've been gone, I've been receiving strange phone calls."

"Dude, it's probably Francis being a weirdo." Alfred reasoned. Arthur reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah, probably."

"Well I am going. See'ya later!" Alfred then headed out leaving Arthur alone in the back room. Arthur grabbed Alfred's apron off of the floor and put it on.

Alfred found that the old lady was sitting at a table with Matthew telling him some story about her husband. Alfred motioned Matthew to follow him outside. Matthew politely excused himself and left. Arthur then approached the counter still frazzled by his nightmares.

The Brit couldn't shake off this ominous feeling he had. Something told him that something bad was going to happen. However, Arthur couldn't imagine just how bad it would be.

_You just have to be patient._

_**AN: **__Sooo I feel like this chapter was lamer than the last…But I figured: "Well fuck, might as well update." Toris will play a huge role later. And you will see many other Hetalia characters enter the story. Sorry this chapter sucked…TRUST ME it will get much creepier as I keep going. Ivan isn't nearly as creepy as I know he can be. I am also trying to fix my over usage of adverbs…it's a bad habit.._

_I am not sure when you should expect the next chapter…R&R! I say this time after time again, I am more likely going to update if I am getting some solid feedback that I am doing something right. And constructive criticism is welcomed! _


	7. Bird Watching

"Dude I am so excited they came back out with the McRib!" Alfred exclaimed as him and Matthew waited in line.

"That thing is disgusting Al." Matthew twisted his already curly cowlick as he stared at the menu. He really didn't care for McDonald's but Alfred insisted that's where they go.

"That's not the principle of it," He started as they moved an inch in line. "The point is it's a limited item and a true gem."

"You count the McRib as a gem?" Matthew deadpanned.

"You just don't understand art my friend." When they arrived at the counter Alfred ordered over twenty things that would only make a dent in his endless appetite. Matthew settled for a Happy Meal feeling that the regular meal was too big. They sat inside the Playplace area and watched as kids jumped into the ball pit and explored through brightly colored plastic tunnels.

"It smells like feet in here." Matthew complained. Alfred stole one of his McNuggets and rolled his eyes.

"It's too crowded in there, and it's too cold to eat outside so suck it up." He then took a loud obnoxious sip of his coke. Matthew cringed at the sound. However he knew better than to ruffle Alfred's feathers, he needed to coax his twin into a good mood.

"You know Al," He began softly. Alfred snapped his head up to meet Matthew's eyes. A fry was sticking out of his brother's mouth. Matthew ignored it for the sake of getting his point across. "Your business seems to be doing quite well."

"Yeah I guess it is." Alfred responded flatly.

"You're really sticking by it."

"Yeah I sure am." Alfred shoved half of the McRib in his mouth. Matthew watched in horror at Alfred's terrible table manners. He thought living with someone as uptight as Arthur would help his bad habits but he guessed not.

"Look Al, you know why I am here." Matthew murmured. Alfred frowned at him, the barbeque sauce sticking to the corners of his mouth.

"I am not going to talk to him Matthew." He was adamant. Matthew sighed.

"Come on it's been two years." He pleaded.

"Yeah and the bastard hasn't tried to call me either."

"Alfred." He pressed.

Alfred snorted and folded his arms like a child. His blue eyes gleamed with disdain. Matthew was silent for a moment waiting for Alfred to say something. His lips formed in a pucker as his scowl grew.

"It's not fair that you are asking me of this." Alfred finally managed to say. Matthew would take his twin more seriously if there wasn't barbeque sauce smeared on his face. Matthew sighed and picked up his napkin, ignoring the strange looks he received from mothers around them, and wiped off some of the sauce. Alfred appeared surprised as his cerulean blue eyes connected with Matthew's violet ones. "Does it bother you that much?"

"Yeah you're an adult for god sakes keep your face clean." Matthew retorted.

"No I mean me not talking to dad?"

"Yes immensely." A moment of silence passed between them.

Matthew understood Alfred's feelings towards his father; the man was an impossible person to get along with. He was ornery, stubborn, and never wrong. He and Alfred were exactly the same yet polar opposites at the same time. Where has the world had always been black and white to their father, it was always grey with Alfred. Their father grew frustrated with Alfred's flight of ideas that never showed any consistency or whole hearted effort. All Alfred wanted to do was gamble with his own life and take risks. The boy never belonged in boarding school or any other structured setting his father would force him into. Alfred was just a free spirit who wanted nothing more but to constantly entertain himself with new adventures.

"Look Al," Matthew broke the silence. Alfred resigned himself to playing with a napkin and avoided Matthew's eyes. "I am having a gallery for my photos this upcoming weekend. I would really like it if you could come and check it out. You don't have to talk to dad if you don't want to, but at least have some decency and show up for at least an hour or so."

Alfred sighed still tearing his napkin to shreds. "What day and what time?"

"Saturday at 1."

"If Arthur is willing to cover me and I can find a ride I will go." Alfred caved in. Matthew was shocked to see his brother give in so easily but happy all the same.

"Great! Oh and wear something….nice."

"I can't wear my Mickey Mouse shirt?" Alfred whined.

"No in fact that shirt needs to go in the garbage." Matthew nibbled at his McNugget and watched in amusement at Alfred's horrified expression.

"I love that shirt! Sure there are some burns in it and moth holes…and stains…But that shirt has been through some of my toughest moments you know!" He exclaimed wildly.

"Yeah and now it needs to be retired. I rather you show up in a dress than that shirt."

"Don't tempt me." Alfred winked exactly how Francis would have. The twins busted up ignoring the nervous glances from mothers and children alike. They truly cared for one and another. However in their moment of laughter, they never once caught two unwelcomed eyes gazing upon them from afar.

XXX

Ivan wasn't painting today. He just wasn't in the mood. There was once a time when the Russian would paint every waking moment of his life. But something inside him dwindled, and the man found himself in a depression.

When Toris left, Ivan mentally collapsed. Not that the man was anymore mentally sound prior to that day, but in Ivan's mind he was finally experiencing insanity.

There was something about being alone he couldn't withstand. His stomach twisted in knots as he curled up on his couch. He uninterestingly listened to the voice of a newscaster who droned on and on about his Gilibird. Were they that surprised when they found the man's body in the condition it was in? The Prussian was asking for it with the lifestyle he lived.

"They haven't even found the others yet," Ivan mused to himself drearily. Gilbert wasn't his first victim, no just one of many. If Toris had stuck around he might have carried that title, but instead his first victim was a temperamental Chinese man.

Yao was his name.

Within first contact of Ivan the Chinese man was defensive. He shooed Ivan from his restaurant and refused to serve him. Yao sensed the danger as soon as he and Ivan exchanged looks. He never walked alone, and always surrounded himself with others so he would never be caught alone. However, one night, Yao was alone. Ivan was never sure why the man let his guard down; perhaps he figured he could risk it at least once.

But that ended up being the biggest mistake of his life. He lunged on the man with all of his might and took him out like he was nothing. Although Ivan did have to give Yao some credit for trying to fight him off. Ivan dragged Yao's unconscious body to his house. At that time Ivan didn't have a basement so he kept Yao in his tool shed next to his small home. Ivan strapped the petite man to a chair and made sure there was no breaking from the restraints. When Yao had finally awakened, his eyes widened up in horror.

He enjoyed this bird. Oh noble robin who he bruised and abused.

The man cursed in his native language and screamed for mercy, but none was to be had. Ivan only gave mercy when he was bored. He took out his anger towards Toris on Yao. He broke bones, engraved scars on his beautiful white skin, and burned blisters with love. He wanted Yao to know there was no world beyond his tool shed. He wanted Yao to know there was no escaping. Yao never did say thank you when Ivan was tender with him. Yao only spat out obscenities.

Until Yao's eyes were no longer defiant but rather lifeless, Ivan released his bird. He snapped his neck like he had done to the bird he had as a child. The sickening crack was a wondrous sound to Ivan.

Ivan always hated silence.

He remembered drawing furiously for months after that. His work burgeoned brilliantly and never had he felt so content with his life. Ivan had to burn it all however. When word got out about Yao's disappearance, he was a huge suspect. So the Russian burnt down his home along with Yao's body in it. He then left Russia for America with only the clothes he had on his back and his beaten up brown sketch book.

Ivan found himself regretting killing Yao when he slept quietly in a rundown motel room. Ivan was lonely once again, but it was worse now for he was in a foreign land. The moans and groans of sleazy kinks could be heard next door. Ivan cringed as he listened to every little sound they would make.

Ivan was so alone.

Ivan bore holes in the backs of others heads. His childish smile and soft voice told a story of true pain. Ivan was abused himself. He was but a doll for his sister. He never forgot how love first felt when his father grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room.

The giant Russian sat up from his couch and downed another shot of vodka. His stomach grumbled irritated with the warm contents that entered its domain. Ivan sighed and resigned himself to lying back down on the couch.

His canary will be here soon. His bird will sing sweet nothings and drown him in his endless blue eyes. Alfred won't be like the others. He will not leave Ivan.

This much he knew.

_**AN: **__Ivan was in the ball pit! JUST KIDDING!____Okay so this chapter sucks. I am sorry but something about it is…off? I was going to add a scene with Arthur and Francis but I think that can come into the next chapter…_

_So what do you guys think? Scared? Anxious? Uninterested? _

_Oh thanks for the reviews by the way. And the constructive criticism helps as well. I truly appreciate anyone's insight and them taking their time to read my story! SUPER THANKIES!_

_So my summer semester will be over next week. (should be working on final projects) But my fall semester will begin two weeks after and I am going to be quite busy…So I can't quite say when my next update will be…_

_Looks like Ivan is going to get his canary soon…MWHAHAHA! R&R!_


	8. Doorstep

"I'm back!" Alfred chimed. Arthur snapped his head from over the counter to see Matthew and Alfred walk in. "Had some left over's if you're hungry." Alfred then handed Arthur a bag.

"Thanks." Arthur muttered. He gingerly fished his hand inside the bag curious as to what the glutton left him. He ignored the now cold fries and two McNuggets and grabbed the toy. "What the bloody hell is this?"

"Looks like a toy." Alfred responded dumbly. Arthur rolled his eyes and unearthed the MADE IN CHINA plushie out of the bag. It was a Beanie Babie.

"Ooooh a TY!" Alfred snatched the small stuffed animal out of Arthur's hands to read the tag. It was a red rooster named Strut. Alfred frowned when he saw no poem or anything written on the little red tag and handed it back to Arthur.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked irritated.

"It's a gift." Alfred smiled sweetly and Arthur knew what that meant.

"Alright git, what do you want?"

"Nothing!" Alfred was almost too quick and defensive with that response. Arthur cocked an eyebrow knowing Alfred all too well. When they first became friends, Arthur began to recognize certain traits the blond would display when he wanted something. There was that big cheesy smile that was usually followed by jumpiness or overly kind words. After a long hard cold stare, Alfred sighed in defeat and leaned over the counter to level with Arthur.

"Hm? I am right aren't I? Now what do you want?"

"For you to cover me this Saturday." Alfred muttered. Arthur instantly shook his head.

"No no no! Absolutely not!" He said adamantly. Alfred frowned but was determined.

"Can we talk about this in the back?" Alfred gestured towards the storage room. Arthur hesitantly followed, once again leaving Matthew alone in the store. Alfred gently shut the door behind them and turned to Arthur. "Why not? You didn't even give me a chance to explain."

"You know how I completely loathe the Saturday rush. I am absolutely awful with customers, and what if Francis drops by to annoy me?" Arthur rebutted. Alfred did understand where he was coming from. When Alfred initially enlisted the Brit it was because he knew the man would have the will and the mind to run a business. It was of course not for his complete lack of people skills. Not that Arthur was bad mannered, just eccentric. In moments of high stress the man has been known to lose touch with reality and find himself mentally drifting away. Occasionally Alfred would find his friend chattering away to himself about fairies or something else fantastical.

"It's probably going to be slower than usual. There's a game Sunday." Alfred reasoned. Arthur folded his arms and put up a stony front. He was tired of bending to Alfred's will. "Look, I will personally talk to Francis if you want." Arthur remained silent. Alfred grabbed the shorter man by the shoulders and faced him. His blue eyes dug deeply into Arthur's green ones. The Brit quickly broke their contact and resorted to focusing his attention to the boxes of tea on the floor.

"Where are you going?" He asked in a hushed voice.

"Mattie is having this art thing on Saturday and he really wants me to go."

"Is your father going to be there?" He asked suddenly realizing this was very important.

"Yeah. But I am not going for him. I am going for Matthew." Alfred's statement was laced with certain bitterness to it. Arthur deflated realizing he was backed in a corner. If he didn't cover Alfred, then he would look like the jackass in this situation. Who was he to interrupt family affairs? Even if Arthur would have to run the café on his own during their busiest hours. But it wasn't just that. Deep down inside Arthur's stomach, a bad feeling arose.

Perhaps it was silly, but Arthur had been overly paranoid since the crank call incident last night. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something very bad was going to happen. The man wasn't sure where this sensation came from. It could be more or less the new stress he recently encountered, or a deep seeded intuition that sickly foreshadowed things. However, he would have never imagined that his answer to this question would completely change his life and those around him.

"F-fine. But you owe me. Big time!" Arthur suddenly found himself engulfed by Alfred's arms.

"No problem buddy! I will cover the next Saturday shift and you can take it off or-"

"YOU'RE CHOKING ME YOU BUFFOON LET GO!"

"Oh," Alfred said as he let go of Arthur. "Sorry."

Arthur dusted himself off. "God being around you is equivalent to owning an unruly dog."

"An unruly dog who is awesome." Alfred sheepishly smiled. The Brit merely scowled and walked out with Alfred following suit.

The Brit inwardly groaned when he saw who was chatting up the Canadian now. There in the corner sat a man with beautiful long blond hair and a stubbly chin. His heavy French accent reeked of arrogance. Arthur turned red quickly.

"Frog?! What are you doing here?!" He balled up his hands in fist. Francis merely smirked and slowly inched his way to Arthur.

"I am a customer, no?" He grinned.

"No!" Arthur snapped. Alfred watched the two bicker out of amusement.

"Why, such bad service! I am waiting here ever so patiently to be ahem-" Francis leaned closely to Arthur's face. "Attended to. Although I do not mind talking to this fine specimen." Francis pointed to Matthew and Matthew in turn blushed.

"Alright alright enough!" Alfred finally butted in. "If you wanna order something, order it! If not, then leave!"

"Such rudeness." Francis huffed. "I will take whatever so called special you are having today."

"That's the Hot Pumpkin Latte" Alfred answered.

"I will have one of those please. A small." Francis returned to the table Matthew was at and sat cross legged. "So business is slow oui?"

Arthur grunted and retreated back to the storage room. Alfred sighed. "Well afternoons are generally slow…"

"Not in my shop!" Francis retorted haughtily.

"Then why are you here frog?!" Arthur yelled from the back.

"To visit you of course!" The man grinned. Arthur shuddered and decided now would be a good time to leave. He neatly folded up his apron and handed it to Alfred. Francis eyed the hostile Brit innocently. Or at least what appeared to be innocently. "Where are you going mon ami?"

"If you must know I am not on the schedule today! So I am going to return home and try to go back to sleep." His response wasn't as angry as he intended it to be. Arthur felt completely drained. Francis cocked his head curiously.

"Why, there are dark bags under your eyes! Do those dreams of me leave you that restless?"

Alfred quickly placed Francis's latte on the counter and seized the fuming Englishman by the arms. Arthur relentlessly tried to claw Francis's face out. "You damn frog! I will kill you!"

"Is this how you treat all of your customers?" Francis coyly asked. Alfred resisted the urge to release Arthur from his grip and held him tighter.

"Let go of me you twat! I am going to give him a one for!" Arthur fumed.

"We can't afford a law suit!"

In the midst of all of this the shop door swung open. All four of them froze as they noticed Kiku walking in. He looked at them all awkwardly not sure what to make of the situation. A moment of silence passed before Francis spoke up.

"Oh and here I thought it was finally a customer."

"I will hurt you!" Arthur yelled as he went back to trying to claw Francis's face out.

"Perhaps I should return at another time." The Japanese man silently spoke up.

"No no you're fine dude!" Alfred finally released Arthur and shot him and Francis a stern look. "Right?"

"Why of course!"

"I need to return to the bakery anyway." Francis stood up, grabbed his latte, and headed for the door. "Call me!" He shouted while winking at Matthew. Arthur shot the Frenchman a dirty look and shoved him out the door.

"Good riddance!" He said as he dusted his hands off.

"I don't know, he seemed pretty cool." Matthew quietly added.

"Don't even think about it. The dude is well…very sexually driven. In fact him and Ar-oof!" Before Alfred could finish his thought, Arthur elbowed him hard into the ribs. "Ow why?"

"Some things are better left unsaid." Arthur retorted. Matthew was the only one who appeared confused by this but decided not to ask. Kiku then brought attention to what he was holding in hands.

"Huh? What's that?" Alfred asked curiously.

"It is why I came here. I found this in front of my door step." Kiku gradually un-wrapped the cluster of tissues that surrounded the object in his hand. All three men gathered around to see what it was. Alfred gagged. It was a yellow bird with stiff talons and lifeless black eyes. Its neck slightly askew and beak shut.

"Eww why would you show us this?!" Alfred stepped back somewhat disturbed. Arthur grimaced.

"Don't be such a baby! The poor dear must have hit your shop window."

"No. I think it was planted there." Kiku reasoned.

"Oh come on Kiku, who would do that?" Alfred interjected. Kiku's shoulders slumped.

"I am not sure. But I do know that canaries are not wild birds." They were silent for a moment mulling over Kiku's theory.

"Do you think one of us did it?" Arthur inquired.

"Of course not! I am just wondering if perhaps any of you saw someone suspicious hanging around the store. It appeared after my lunch break." The young Japanese man seemed uncharacteristically stirred up by this. Alfred wondered if it was maybe a bad omen or something to find a dead bird on his doorstep.

"No, but we were mostly in here." Arthur clarified.

"Oh. I see." Kiku responded sullenly.

"Here, give the bird to me. I know a nice garden where I can bury him." Kiku handed the tissue wrapped canary to Arthur. "Hm, there's a pet store not far from here. Maybe it escaped?" Arthur wondered aloud. They all shrugged not sure of what to make of it. Feeling incredibly awkward Alfred changed the subject.

"So Mattie," Matthew turned his attention away from the bird to Alfred. "I can go Saturday. What time is it again?"

"One o'clock."

"Okay so I can help Arthur with the morning rush and then head down to the bus station…This way I don't leave Arthur with no car. Hey there's a bus that goes to Santa Fe right?"

"You are going to Santa Fe on Saturday Alfred-san?" Kiku bought into the subject change still feeling unsettled by the dead bird.

"Yuppers. Matt's having an art thingy."

"Photo gallery." Matthew corrected.

"Whatever."

"Well I am off this Saturday. I can take you if you are in need of a ride." Kiku politely offered.

"I would hate to impose like that…"

"No it's fine. It's not that far of a drive and I want to go down there anyway." He insisted.

"Cool so it's settled! Kiku will drive me then."

"I am glad it is worked out. I am going to head back to my shop. I will call you tonight." Kiku weaved through the three men with his eyes still glued on the bird. Arthur gently wrapped the tissue back around it and feebly smiled. "Thank you for taking care of it for me Arthur-san. Hopefully when I get back there won't be another one waiting for me."

"Don't worry 'ol chap. It probably just escaped from its owner and flew into the window." The Brit reassured. Kiku slowly nodded feeling unsure. He then weakly waved good bye and headed back to his store.

"Dude I've never seen Kiku so upset before." Alfred finally spoke up as the three of them stood there. Arthur shrugged and tenderly placed the bird in his breast pocket.

"Yes well, he thinks someone did it to be mean."

"But who would do that? I mean really, who could Kiku possibly piss off?" Alfred asked critically. Arthur merely shrugged again.

"I am not quite sure. Like I said it probably just hit his window. I've seen it before."

"Yeah makes sense. Man it is dead in here." Alfred remarked as he returned to behind the counter.

"Hey Al I should be heading back. The bus comes around 4:30 and it's already 3:40." Matthew chirped in.

"Here, let me drive you to the bus stop Matthew. You shouldn't have to walk." Arthur politely offered.

"Thanks its a few block from here."

"See'ya Saturday Mattie!" Alfred yelled after his twin.

"Can't wait!" Matthew exclaimed in return as him and Arthur walked out the door.

Little did Matthew know, or anyone for that matter, that Alfred wouldn't be making an appearance that day.

XXX

After Arthur dropped Matthew off at the bus stop he headed to the park to bury the bird. The man still felt restless and uneasy as he parked their car under a barren tree. Orange and yellow leaves crunched under his shoes as his eyes roamed for a good spot. This was perhaps the only time of year he found New Mexico to be beautiful. Although spring was not bad either, and he had to appreciate the fact he could see the stars at night. The wind whistled uncertainly as he continued to tread through the dying grass.

He finally found a spot for the poor dear near a bush. Arthur dug a hole with his hands and buried the canary. He hoped to god a hungry cat wouldn't find it.

"There," he said to no one in particular. The man remained there for a moment or so however. His eyes hanging heavy over the new burial spot. He sharply inhaled as his nightmares from last night resurfaced in his string of thoughts. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets feeling sick. He should have asked Francis about the phone calls while he was there."Don't obsess. It's nothing." The Brit said quietly. He then found himself walking away still feeling uneasy.

What Arthur didn't realize was that someone was laughing at him. In fact, someone was laughing at all of them. The cackle so cruel, so shrill. It filled with glee and animosity that trickled so bitterly down the culprit's throat.

There was nothing any of them could do. The plan was already in motion. Alfred's life was already considered forfeit.

So precious his bird.

_**AN: **__Francis never paid for his coffee…Sorry it's been like forever since I've updated. School and drama got in the wayXD That and halfway through writing this chapter I got annoyed with how things were flowing and took a break. _

_Some thoughts I want to share:_

_When I first started this story I was very unsure on which character I would prefer writing for (this is my first Hetalia fanfic). I initially assumed America, since I am American and would have an easier time writing for his character. HOWEVER, I actually like writing for Arthur best. Which was completely unexpected. I think out of anyone in this story, his character stands out a bit more. _

_Also I've recently started watching Breaking Bad. I am only bringing it up cuz it takes place in New Mexico. I live in New Mexico and it's a pretty ignored state so when I watch stuff that mentions it get a little giddy. This state isn't such a weird setting for serial killings, they found a bunch of dead prostitutes buried in the mesa a few years back. _

_Another thought, I've been reading other stories where Ivan is this creep who kills and I cannot help but feel mine doesn't measure up to the othersXD But I think that will change as soon as he gets Alfred. Maaan it's finally happening next chapter!_

_Thankies for all of the reviews and constructive criticism! Every bit helps. _


	9. Goodbye

Alfred wasn't sure if he should stay in bed or embrace whatever change that was about to happen. It had been years since he's spoken to his father, and he's grown used to the lonely holidays and ignored birthdays. It was amazing to him that a few colorful words could change everything.

So could a few colorful actions.

The American grunted as he slowly shifted out of his bed. Leaving the warmth he just wanted to delve back into. He groped his night stand for his glasses as his cerulean blue eyes tried to adjust to the sunlight peaking out of his blinds.

Arthur sat there quietly at the table. He was reading his morning newspaper with a usual cup of tea. Alfred laughed to himself at how routine the Brit had become. There was a time when Arthur was, well, wild. Although few remember it. It was sophomore year in high school when the two crossed paths. Arthur was strange. His hair green out of rebellion and clothes handmade. He would sling his arm around Alfred's shoulder and say: "Alright twit, what hair brained scheme do you have in stored for us today?"

Arthur wasn't like that anymore. And maybe Alfred was just a bit sad over it. Gradually he watched the punk evolve into an old man in a young man's body. Forever trapped in ritualistic bullshit.

The Brit perked his head up and returned the stare he was receiving. He quirked one of his gigantic eyebrows.

"Is there something growing on my face?" He asked snidely. Alfred smirked.

"Well at first I thought I was seeing things, but yes. Now I have in fact confirmed that your left brow is a tinge bigger than your right."

Arthur rolled up his newspaper and smacked Alfred on the head with it. The American snickered and started making coffee. Silence draped over them again and Arthur observed Alfred carefully. The boy was depressed. Anyone could see that. Arthur sighed.

"So," He began quietly as he watched Alfred pour his coffee.

"So?" He returned as he took a seat across from him.

"Excited?"

"Mmhm." He took a sip of the brown bitter liquid. Arthur deflated a bit.

"Alfred, is something bothering you?" The words rolled out of Arthur's mouth awkwardly. It was the subject him and Alfred have managed to dance around for months. They were roommates, business partners, best friends and yet they couldn't even carry a decent conversation. Alfred slumped in his chair and tore his eyes away from his friend. Alfred didn't want to have this conversation now.

"No." He said plainly. Arthur cocked his head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Alfred headed to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. He ignored Arthur's critical look and began cooking breakfast. Arthur sighed and placed his newspaper on the table.

"Alfred," Arthur said tenderly. "You can tell me anything." Alfred flipped his egg too quickly and cursed when he broke the yoke. He then passive aggressively started to scramble it, ignoring Arthur altogether. Arthur grabbed his tea cup and dumped its contents in the sink bag and all too frustrated to care. He then slammed the cup on the counter and walked away. Alfred kept scrambling his egg.

"Ungrateful twat," Arthur mumbled to himself as he threw on his coat. "Never can just tell me what's on his mind, just expects me to figure it out." He then grabbed his umbrella hearing about rain and waited impatiently on the couch for Alfred to be done. Alfred continually claimed that Arthur was the moody one between the two, but by the way he was acting lately Arthur had to say that Alfred was most definitely the one acting like a teenage girl. Why couldn't he just confront Arthur? There was a time when the two would just go at each other, fist and all fighting for the last word. In the end neither really got what they wanted and would apologize immediately. Although it was immature and extreme, Arthur wished it was still like that. At least there was resolution in the end.

Alfred uncomfortably entered the living room and stared at Arthur for a moment or so. He sighed before speaking up. "Should we go?" Arthur shot him a nasty look but none the less headed out the door.

"Mmhm." He walked right past Alfred and headed down the hallway. Alfred rolled his eyes and followed.

The old man from two doors down followed both men in the elevator. He was short and stumpy, balding from the top. He usually joked with the two, giving them strange nicknames or telling bad jokes. He was silent however as he observed the growing hostility between the two. Arthur resided in the furthest corner, his eyes casted up at the ceiling, and his mouth closed tight. Alfred was by the entrance, watching as they slowly went down every floor. The old man switched glances between the two young men.

The door couldn't slide open any faster as the two briskly walked to the parking garage. Alfred and Arthur both headed for the driver's side and glared at one and another as both hands brushed the handle.

"Move aside, I will drive." Arthur hissed Alfred stood his ground.

"No," He said stubbornly. "You're too angry to drive." Arthur huffed.

"Well, you're a bad driver." The Brit spouted off venomously.

"So, we're going to resort to name calling?"

"It's more like truth calling." Arthur quickly countered still not letting go of the door handle.

Alfred laughed condescendingly. "Oh, well I got some truth for you then."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably but was far too prideful to back down. "Like what?"

"Well for starters you're a control freak." Alfred snapped. Arthur shook his head and bit his lip.

"If you mean by being organized, and prepared, then yes I guess I am a control freak. Somebody has to be the responsible one here." His voice was sardonic.

"I'm very responsible!"

"When it's convenient for you!" Arthur spat. The two men stared intensely at one and another. Alfred scoffed.

"What happened to you Arthur? You used to be so cool. Now when I'm around you I feel like I'm hanging out with my mom."

"That's funny because when I'm around you I feel like I'm catering to a spoiled child." Arthur's face burned. Him and Alfred's hands tightly gripped on the door handle. Neither man wanted to give up.

"If you feel that way then why do you put up with me?" Alfred pressed. Arthur gaped at Alfred like he was an idiot.

"Maybe because I care for you. Because I believed in you when no one else would. But since we're here now, I can clearly see it was a huge mistake! I should have gone back to England when I had the chance!" Arthur then noticed the old man from the elevator watching the two bicker from his car. He shot him a dirty look and the old man hurriedly went into his vehicle and drove away. When Arthur returned his gaze back to Alfred, his face dropped.

Alfred appeared hurt from that comment. With his head down and hair in his face, he had released the door handle and walked back to the passenger's side. Without any other word he climbed into his seat and slammed the door. Arthur instantly felt guilty for what he had said but was still too mad to apologize for it. Arthur wasn't totally in the wrong, Alfred had instigated this.

The drive to work was painfully quiet. Neither one said anything to the other, and both preferred it that way. They were fifteen minutes behind schedule because of their dumb argument and were hurriedly preparing things for the grouchy Saturday morning customers. Arthur worked register as Alfred managed fixing the food and drinks. They cautiously eyed one and another but refused to say a word.

The door chimed open with a hiss of cold wind following it. Kiku stumbled in bundled in a thick white coat and a scarf. Arthur snapped up his head to see snowflakes melted in the man's black hair. He slumped.

"Don't tell me it's snowing out there! It's only November!" The Brit clucked. Kiku walked up to the register and nodded.

"Yes it's not too bad though. You know how this state is; it will probably melt by afternoon." Kiku didn't say too much after that though as the sudden change in mood struck him when Alfred came out from the back room. He could sense the bubbling tension as the two men were unusually quiet.

"Fuck I forgot my coat." Alfred finally said as he studied Kiku for a moment. Arthur rolled his eyes and headed into the back room. A second later he came back with a black sweater and awkwardly gave it to Alfred.

"Take this," He whispered.

"Thanks," Alfred mumbled as he hesitantly grabbed the sweater from Arthur. The blond shrugged it over his head and smoothed out the wrinkles. He then turned to Arthur and forcibly choked out a quiet goodbye. Arthur didn't respond and retreated back to the register. He watched as Kiku and him went out the door and drove away.

XXX

Kiku took another sip of his green tea as they drove onto the freeway. He squinted his eyes to better focus on the road before him. The snowflakes turned into flurries and made it look like the two of them were going through light speed. Alfred turned his attention to his friend who appeared more frazzled than usual.

"Kiku, are you feeling alright?"

Kiku sluggishly nodded. "Yes, it's just the snow."

"Do you want me to drive?" Alfred was concerned; his friend didn't look so good. Kiku shook his head and took another sip of his tea.

"My tea does not taste right." He remarked aloud.

"What do you mean?" But before Kiku could answer, everything went blurry and he could hear Alfred screaming. Alfred jerked the wheel from him and spun the car into the shoulder of the road. They came to a harsh stop almost hitting the cement wall. Alfred was silent for a moment before he computed that they just escaped possible death. He turned to see Kiku's head lying against the steering wheel. "Oh my god Kiku are you alright?!" He studied the Japanese man to see there were no physical injuries, and hurriedly leapt out of the car. He was hyperventilating now as stood on the shoulder of the road in an intense snowstorm.

Cars blurred by him as he waved his arms spastically. Did nobody have any damn consideration? His friend was incapacitated and they almost nearly wrecked! Finally a white car pulled up to him and parked. Alfred ran towards it anxiously. A tall man with a long beige coat and white scarf walked out.

"Need any help comrade?"

XXX

Six o'clock rolled around and Arthur hadn't heard a word from Alfred. He shrugged it off figuring he was probably still upset from earlier or afraid to talk to the Brit. Arthur started to close the shop and felt almost too empty. He didn't mean what he said to Alfred this morning, it just came out. He had been holding these feelings in for awhile now and it was bound to happen. He would just apologize to Alfred when he would get home.

Before Arthur could leave though, the phone rang. He casually walked towards it smirking. "I knew he would eventually cave in." He said to himself and reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Okay Arthur, put Alfred on the phone." It was Matthew and he sounded rather upset. Arthur was dumbstruck.

"What are you talking about; I thought he was with you?" The Brit responded puzzled.

"No, he never showed up. I figured he just dipped out on me." Arthur felt something drop in his stomach. He breathed slowly.

"Well he left with Kiku hours ago." He paused for a moment. "Maybe he's in the apartment."

The shop door chimed open and Arthur looked over to see it was Francis. Francis was uncharacteristically silent. Arthur shot him a look of confusion. "Let me call you back." He hung up the phone. Arthur leisurely approached the strangely somber Frenchman, not sure of what to make of all of this. "Francis?"

Francis's eyes casted down to the floor. He inhaled sharply before speaking up. "I just got a call from the hospital," He paused for a moment observing Arthur's fearful expression. "Kiku is in critical condition. They found him miles from his car beaten to a bloody pulp."

Arthur stood there frozen as a million thought engulfed his mind. Were they in a car wreck? Were they mugged? What about Alfred? Was Kiku going to die? "Oh my god," He was beginning to breathe heavy now. "What about Alfred?"

Francis remained rigid. He quickly grabbed Arthur by the shoulders as the man began to have a panic attack. Arthur beat Francis's chests with his fists tearing up. "Come on goddammit, what about Alfred?!"

"They found Kiku's car on the shoulder of the road," Francis choked for a moment. "They saw no sign of another passenger."

And just like that, Arthur crumpled on the floor in a crying mess.

XXX

Ivan stroked the soft blond hair of his new pet. The unconscious man squirmed under Ivan's touch, something he would have to be conditioned to not do. Ivan carried the bruised and beaten American down the stairs of his basement bridal style. He gently laid him down on an old yellow mattress against the wall.

He kissed Alfred's forehead and giggled with glee. Finally, he had his bird. And nobody was going to take him away.

Nobody.

_**AN: **__Is it inappropriate to stop here? _

_First and foremost I wish to apologize for my complete lack of an update. Believe me when I tell you that I had at least two pages of this done when the last chapter came out. I mostly struggled with writing Alfred and Arthur's argument…And it still feels rather card board to me. I was also overwhelmed with school, and whatnot. And admittedly another fanfic I was working on here. I needed a break from Precious Birds but now I'm back!_

_So what did you think? Perhaps a tad melodramatic? Oh and if any of you are wondering why Francis was called, I was meaning to somehow stuff in there that he was one of Kiku's emergency contacts because he has no family out in New Mexico. I was not sure how to fit that in though…_

_Also, some of you maybe critical of the severe weather change. Let me tell you something about New Mexico, it has the most bi-polar weather ever! I swear to God that you can wake up with the sun shining, and the next thing you know there is a snowstorm. My first day of spring break we were randomly snowed on. It's strange._

_Thanks for all of the reviews! I hope you like this terrible chapter! R&R!_


	10. Welcome

It was beautiful to watch each ragged breath. The way his chest heaved, up and down, up and down. Perhaps there was something gratifying in knowing he could end it at any moment. The small noises his newest bird made.

Ivan hovered over the man. Placed ear to chest and counted every beat. The thump-thump sound was contagious. He could feel his heart palpitate just as quickly. No way would he snuff his hot breath.

Suddenly, his bird stirred. His fingers painfully twitched, eyes fluttered open. Ivan gradually lifted his head off of Alfred's chest. Fingers clasped the man's throat. A horrified expression started to animate itself across his delicate features. Ivan didn't like the look he was being given. Although fear was a great way to condition his pet, he wanted a more warm welcome. Firmly, he pressed his fingers against the man's peach colored skin.

"Confused?" Ivan playfully asked. His smile dotted those venomous eyes. Alfred couldn't speak and carefully nodded. Ivan gently let go of the man's throat. He waited for the frantic response he was used too. Instead, Alfred peered at him vacantly. This was certainly curious. It wasn't until Alfred began to realize he couldn't move at all did the fear begin to take over. Without his glasses, the dark was nothing more but a clever disguise for the villain. He could merely see two purple eyes that gleamed something sinister.

Then it hit him.

"What did you do to Kiku?!" Alfred demanded. His captor didn't appear to like this tone very much. The two purple eyes rose above Alfred. They consumed him violently in their ugly gaze. Without hesitation, Ivan kicked Alfred in the ribs. The man doubled over in pain, remembering the blows he was dealt earlier.

"Dead," Ivan hissed.

Alfred shook his head furiously. "No, no no! You didn't-"

"Oh, I did." He grinned. Alfred laid still for a moment. But before the man could react to the horrible news, Ivan grabbed him by the hair and pushed him against the wall. "I didn't ask you to speak comrade."

Alfred was silent. In a blur, everything he knew that mattered was gone. Kiku was dead. The thought bubbled and burned inside his head. He held his breath, the sobs slowly leaking from his mouth. Ivan slammed him against the wall.

"Did I say you could speak?" He asked cruelly. Alfred lifted his pathetic face. The tears mixing with the blood.

"Fuck you! Let go of me!" The man struggled against his captor. This wasn't a smart move, for it only made Ivan angrier. He threw Alfred on the mattress on the floor. Alfred curled up in a ball as the searing pain started to spread throughout his chest. Ivan stepped off the mattress and walked into a dark corner.

Terrified, Alfred moved hysterically, trying to un-do the ropes that dug into his wrists. It was of no use though; his body was far too weak to do anything. He waited until he could hear the steps return to him. He buried his face into the mattress, not ready to face death.

With one giant swing, Ivan hit him with his pipe. It made a sickeningly thwack noise as he did so. Alfred howled like an abused dog. Ivan towered over the man with a placid expression. "Look at me!" He demanded. Alfred shook violently, scared shitless. "Do it, or I will hit you again."

Alfred carefully lifted his head from the mattress. His blue eyes darted nervously towards their violet counterpart. Ivan then put his pipe down and sat on his knees to face the man. Alfred, instinctively scooted back to avoid the gloved hand that was headed his way. Ivan growled, and grabbed Alfred by the throat and placed him on his lap. He then as gently as he could muster, patted the man's head in a calming manner. Alfred jerked away from every touch, feeling the anxiety overtake him. Ivan then yanked a handful of his blond locks.

"Now," He harshly whispered into Alfred's ear. "Should I hit you again?" Alfred profusely shook his head. "What is that?"

"No, no!" Alfred's mind reeled. He had to get out of here and soon. Ivan let go of his hair and started to pet it again.

"Good," He smirked. "I saved you Alfred. Remember that." Alfred's eyes welled up again and the tears came too quick. He choked out a strained sob that caused Ivan to cradle him. "Go ahead, cry it out." He rocked Alfred's body. "You're safe now."

It was the crazed sound in the man's voice that made Alfred cringe. Bleary blurry eyes gazed up at its captor, and all he could think of was Kiku dead somewhere in a ditch and the last words he said to Arthur. The cry grew more insufferable, as he watched the small smirk spread on the Russian's lips.

"It's okay my bird, you're with me now." Alfred couldn't even possibly begin to fathom what those words meant to his captor.

XXX

Arthur and Francis flew into the hospital lobby. Frantically, Arthur went to the secretary asking a million questions at once. Francis pushed aside the disheveled Brit, to get a better handle on the situation.

"Excuse me, but we are looking for friend who was hurt in a car accident. His name is Kiku Honda, I was contacted to come here." The secretary pulled out some papers and nodded.

"Family?" She critically inquired.

"No, his family lives out of country. I'm a friend." Francis clarified. She nodded as she stared down at her clipboard.

"Hold on," She then reached for a white phone on the wall next to her and dialed a few numbers. "Yes, there are two men here to see, hold on," she looked at the clipboard. "Kiku Honda. Yes, yes, okay I will tell them." She hung up the phone and turned to the two men. "Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"Oui?"

"Your friend Kiku is in intensive care right now. You will have to wait here until we call you." She plainly stated. Arthur was about to blow up at the woman but Francis stopped him.

"Thank you! We will do that!" He then whispered into Arthur's ear. "She can't help it calm down." The Brit pushed the Frenchmen off and plopped into one of the lobby chairs. His head fell into his hands as he imagined the worse. Francis turned to Arthur and grabbed his hand. The Brit then found that Francis gave Arthur his McDonald's TY. "I found this on the register; I thought you could squeeze it if you got too stressed."

Arthur nodded appreciatively and took the red rooster. He held it gently in his hands, remembering the last words he said to Alfred. God, he hoped he was okay.

"We should call Matthew, his brother. He was wondering why Alfred didn't show up to his art show." He breathed. Francis nodded.

"Let's wait first," Francis reasoned. "We should see what the police say; I believe they're still looking for another person."

Arthur tugged Strut's tag. The words he said to Alfred burning in his head. What if the twit wasn't okay? What if Kiku was dead? How did his whole world change in a matter of a few hours? The man leaned his head against the wall. His eyes peered up to the television mounted up there. The sound was off, but from the pictures and captions he knew it was more re-hashed information about the Gilbert Belishmidt murder case. Irritated and worried, he closed his eyes and allowed the stress to envelop him.

When Arthur flickered his eyes open, he wasn't in the hospital lobby anymore. Instead, it was an old dingy basement he somewhat recognized. The scent of moth-bitten musty clothes penetrated his nostrils causing him to cough. He could hear droplets of water somewhere in the back, and feel a cold chill rise up in his body.

It was when he took a step forward did he feel a stab of pain in his foot. He cursed, and looked down to see it was shattered glass. Cringing, he pulled the piece of glass out of his foot. He wiped the blood off of it and realized it was a chunk of mirror. When he gazed into the reflection, he suddenly saw two angry red eyes behind him.

Arthur jolted out of his seat. He was back in the hospital lobby, the sweat sticking to his pits and slowly dripping down his face. His breath was heavy as he wasn't sure what he just experienced. He turned to Francis who eyed him carefully.

"How long was I out?" The Brit finally questioned. Francis continued to quirk a brow but decided to not ask.

"About a half an hour." He huffed. Arthur scowled. It didn't feel that long. But before he could complain about how long it was taking, a woman in a white lab coat with long sandy brown hair pulled back in a bun walked out of the double doors. She held a clip board to her chest and had a very serious air about her.

"Francis Bonnefoy?" She called out in a heavy accent. Francis and Arthur got out of their seats and walked up to her.

"That's me." Francis seemed a little shaken. Though the worse wasn't said yet, Arthur knew that the man was bothered by the woman's demeanor. The Brit was surprised he broke down crying earlier, but it was that impending feeling of doom that has just been scratching at his surface that pushed him. However, seeing that even Francis was stirred up by all of this scared Arthur more. Certainly the man was known to be a drama queen, and openly expressed his emotions at inappropriate moments, but this side of the Frenchmen was different. It was almost too surreal, as though this was the end of everything he knew.

"I'm Dr. Hedervary," she shook Francis's and Arthur's hands. "Follow me." She opened the double doors and led them inside. Both men trailed behind the woman as she took a quick right and headed inside a room. They both stopped and gaped at what they saw before them.

Kiku was lying in his bed with a respirator attached. He was covered in bruises head to toe, and a white blanket wrapped around his small body. Arthur's heart jumped at every beep the machine made. Dr. Hedervary bit her lip and sighed. "We did everything we could," she started quietly. "But your friend Kiku is in a coma." There was a long silence that followed her statement. Francis finally spoke up.

"Is he always going to be in one?" Dr. Hedervary shrugged.

"It really depends, this man was brutally beaten. A lot of damages were done to his cranium; it will be a miracle if he does wake up that he will be capable of basic functions." She gently explained. Arthur's ears perked.

"Beaten?"

"Yes," Dr. Hedervary then referenced her clip board. "According to the police report filed, Kiku was found a mile away from his vehicle on the side of the road." Arthur held in the hysterics. She turned to look at both men. "The police want to talk to you both since Mr. Bonnefoy mentioned another passenger being with Mr. Honda. I know this is a lot to take in right now, but with the way that snow is falling I am very concerned for your friend."

Francis faced Arthur. All the while Arthur was staring intensely at his friend. He tightened his fist. "Yes, where are they?" The Brit managed to choke out. Dr. Hedervary told them to wait a second and fetched the police officer she was talking to earlier. The two men glumly exchanged looks.

"This is very serious," Francis finally managed to cough out. The statement was of course completely obvious, but he needed to say something. He held in the wild burst of emotion that shifted through his throat. Kiku always held a fragile appearance, but was capable of a lot. To see him covered in tubes and wires, was utterly unbearable. Francis wanted to say so much more, but before he could Dr. Hedervery and a Hispanic male with rich brown hair and green eyes walked inside the room.

"Hello gentlemen, I am officer Carriedo. I would like to ask some questions." The man seemed to be a little timid for a police officer but Arthur could care less. Francis urged the Brit to talk to him first because he would have more information. In a daze, Arthur walked out of the room with officer Carriedo and into an empty one.

Officer Carriedo gently shut the door behind them and told Arthur to take a seat on the bed. Arthur did so and waited for the questions. Officer Carriedo tried to look as professional as possible as he leaned against the wall. He pulled out a notebook and pencil.

"Name?" He first inquired.

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Mmhm," he scribbled it down in his notebook. "How do you know Kiku Honda?"

"He works a few stores down from our café."

The officer coughed. "And the partner to your store was with him?"

"Yes, they left this morning." Arthur clarified. Officer Carriedo stopped writing and dabbed his pen on his tongue. He then flipped to another page and returned his gaze to Arthur.

"Mr. Kirkland," He began. "Your friend was not found at the scene. I have four officers out there looking for another body, is there any specific details about this man besides the fact he has blond hair and blue eyes?" Arthur's face paled at the use of the word _body_.

"Well," The Brit twisted a button on his coat and swallowed nervously. "He is tan, but not too much so, umm wears glasses…A little taller than me, well considerably taller than me." Arthur's chest fluttered as he imagined Alfred somewhere in the snow. His lips blue, skin grey, and eyes dead.

"What was he wearing?" Officer Carriedo pressed.

"My black sweater and a pair of old faded jeans. He also had brown work boots on." Arthur mindlessly described. Officer Carriedo nodded.

"Anything else?"

"Oh! He has long cowlick that sticks out of his hair." Arthur added. Officer Carriedo closed his notebook.

"Gracias Mr. Kirkland," Officer Carriedo placed his pen into his pocket.

"Is that all?" Arthur was surprised. Didn't they need more information than that? Officer Carriedo meekly smiled.

"Since it hasn't been 48 hours we can't file a missing person's report yet. All we can do in the mean time is search in the area your other friend was found." The man tried to be stoic as possible. But it was the look in the Brit's eyes that made him quickly look away.

"The doctor says Kiku was beaten, this could be the case of a car jacker or, or, worse! My friend is out there somewhere, cold, possibly clinging to life, can't we do more? My description isn't enough! We need to investigate! We need more than four police officers looking in such a large area!" Officer Carriedo slowly shrunk down.

"Mr. Kirkland, your friend's safety is of high priority. But like I said before, until it has been 48 hours, an investigation cannot be launched. As for Mr. Honda's case, we cannot jump to any form of conclusion. Kiku is the only witness to what happened. We do not even know what to look for if it was an attack of some sort." Officer Carriedo wiped the sweat off his brow as Arthur's glare grew. He folded his arms and tapped his foot. The man was furious. As per usual, the police were of no help.

"Fine, then I will go look for him!" Arthur leapt off the hospital bed and stormed out the door. Officer Carriedo trailed behind him. He grabbed Arthur by the arm.

"You do not even know where to go!" The man reasoned. Arthur scoffed.

"I will figure it out!"

"Mr. Kirkland, you are being unreasonable!" Officer Carriedo avoided the stares the two were receiving from patients and doctors alike. It was then when Francis and Dr. Hedervery came out of Kiku's room. "Mr. Bonnefoy, can you please calm down your friend?"

"I do not need anybody to calm me down. I need someone to care! Alfred is missing goddammit! I need to go find him." The desperation bloomed in Arthur's eyes. Francis placed a hand on officer Carriedo's shoulder.

"Please, take him to go look. He will not stop until Alfred is found." Francis pleaded. The Spaniard was conflicted. He was merely a transfer from Las Cruces, and quite fresh to the force. He understood that it would be violating the rules if he had accepted Francis's request. But something inside him burned. Arthur seemed so determined to find his friend, and it spoke to his passionate side. Most officers would flat out say no, but Antonio was weak when it came to his emotions.

"Fine, we will go into my squad car." The man sighed defeated. Arthur thanked him and hurriedly shrugged on his coat. He turned to Francis and gave him Matthew's number.

"Tell him not to worry, we will find Alfred." And with much determination, the two disappeared from Francis's and Dr. Hedervery's vision.

XXX

Arthur watched as the snow came down in flurries. Officer Carriedo said something about it being awfully early for snow in New Mexico but Arthur paid no mind. There were only two things on his mind, locating Alfred and Kiku's condition. The Spaniard studied the Brit from the corner of his eye. The man was a true friend, and it inspired him a little bit. Before officer Carriedo could stop at the scene, Arthur perked up.

"Stop here! Stop here!" The Brit ordered.

"What? We we're not even near the scene yet."

"Just do it!" Not knowing what to do, officer Carriedo pulled into a gas station that was nearby. Before he could even question Arthur as to why, the man ripped off his seat belt and opened the door.

"Wait we need to stick-" Arthur ignored the officer and ran past the gas station into a ditch. "Together.." Officer Carriedo grabbed his keys and locked his door.

Arthur saw something in the snow. Something he couldn't quite explain. He shivered in the bitter cold. As a strong gust of wind hit him from his right, he saw it again. A figure with two red eyes peering at him, urging him to come forward. Arthur swallowed thickly and ran to it ignoring officer Carriedo's calls. Arthur kept running until he realized the figure was gone.

"Where…?" But before the Brit could finish his sentence, he felt something crunch under his feet. Arthur got on his knees and dug into the snow.

"Mr. Kirkland we need to stick together! You can't just run off like that! Are you listening?" He saw how Arthur just remained on the ground hunched. He shook as he held something closely to his chest. "Mr. Kirkland?" The Spaniard drew nearer to Arthur and noticed the tears trickling down his face. The officer then pried his hands away from his chest. There was a pair of broken glasses clasped in his red fingers.

"Those can be anybody's." The man justified. Arthur shook his head.

"I know it's his," he said between broken breaths. "Their ever so slightly crooked, something that used to drive me mad every time I looked at his face."

It was then when officer Carriedo heard a strange howl in the wind. One that almost sounded like a cruel shrill laugh.

**AN: **_I'm stopping here. What do you think? Cliché? Strange? Too unrealistic? I dunno, I'm actually not too unhappy with this chapter. I had been hatching this idea in my head since day 1 of this story, never realizing I was finally going to write it…I was initially planning on making Spain a PI but changed my mind. I feel like he wouldn't make a great cop because he's a tad…easily swayed? Well at least that's what I gather from the chibi Romano stories. Who is also going to be in this story! Not chibi form though._

_I'm not sure if the first meeting between Ivan and Alfred was successful or not. I wanted it to be creepy, but not horribly so that the rest of the details got lost. Now that I can take a break from shoving information about who, what, where, why, and when down your throat…I can finally focus on them. Something I've also envisioned writing since day 1. _

_Thankies for all of the reviews! Each little bit helps! I will update…soon…I'm not exactly sure when. _

_As for the technical police stuff, well….I'm sure a lot of it wouldn't go down this way. BUT YOU KNOW! R&R! _


	11. Captured

Alfred finally moved his head to look. It had been hours since he first discovered he was in this wretched place. He was afraid he was going to find his captor standing there. Waiting for the man to slip up. The pain was still quite apparent as it burned through his bones with every shake. Alfred tightly shut his eyes as he recalled the abrupt pain of the pipe. The way the cool metal pressed into him with such rage. If he wanted to survive, he had to stay on his toes and tighten his lips. He forced his eyes open and accepted the blurry world presented before him. His breathing became shaky at the thought of his captor.

Luckily the man wasn't there. All Alfred could make out in the infinite darkness were ugly grey walls and a single coffee table. He shifted his gaze towards his hands. From the little light that managed to peak through, he could clearly see the red flesh pushing through the rope. Fingers stretched to sustain the little freedom he had. The continual dripping of water could be heard somewhere in the background. His breath became unsteady as the gravity of the situation started to sink in.

He was going to die wasn't he?

Alfred curled up despite the surge of pain that seemed to follow. His face barely touching the soft fabric of Arthur's sweater. He gingerly breathed in the scent that smelled like tea and coffee. A weak cry escaped his lips. The uneven sob flew from his throat. His eyes crinkled as hot tears slid down his cheek. He shut them tight absorbing the world of darkness. Kiku's voice drifted in and out of his head. He could only remember walking out of the car, and then...

It was then he heard the door creak open. A subtle click flooded light into the dark dank room. Alfred dug his head further into the mattress. The steps growing louder and louder. His heart leapt from his chest, pounding inside his ear. It was then he could hear the heavy breathing of another. Suddenly, he was grabbed by his collar. He yelped as his captor pulled him to his face. Alfred saw Ivan's face for the first time since he last handed him a cup of coffee. His breath halted as the million thoughts began to mushroom inside his head.

"You!" The word formed clumsily from his lips. Ivan smirked.

"Da, you just figured that out?" He asked smugly. Alfred stared at him dumbstruck. Ivan then observed his face closely. Alfred's eyes were red and puffy, the tear streaks still eminent on his cheeks. "Beautiful." He remarked. But before Alfred could even ask what that meant, Ivan threw him like a rag doll onto the mattress. His body then lurched forward and he pinned the defenseless American down. His violet eyes further illustrated a hideous lukewarm gaze. Hot breath prickled the hairs on Alfred's neck.

"Wait, what are you do-"

Ivan's giant gloved hand covered his mouth. "Shh," he hushed. "I need you to stay like this. Just like this." Ivan leisurely lifted himself off of the American. His smirk grew more so when he looked at the American's crumpled body. He needed to sketch this now.

Not having a second to waste, Ivan quickly walked away. Alfred fearfully strained his neck to see if the man was grabbing his pipe again. But instead from the corner of his eye he spied Ivan pulling a brick loose and pulling something out. Before he could further investigate, Ivan placed the brick back and headed towards his pet. Alfred reverted his head back its original position. Ivan pulled up a folding chair and sat down across from Alfred. He whipped out his brown leather sketchbook and began to sketch away.

The pencil made a gentle scraping noise. Alfred stared at the wall afraid to question what the man was doing. He then realized this was a good opportunity to study the room in case he got a chance to escape. His eyes roamed around the room as far as he could manage. He took note that the staircase split the room into two sides. He was on the left and where Ivan pulled out that sketchbook was on the right. He tried to recall where he saw Ivan pull the brick from out of the wall but he wasn't sure.

"Stop it. I need your eyes." Ivan silently commanded. Alfred's eyes casted down to the man's boots. He laid still as the sound of sketching grew louder.

The man first did a gesture drawing of his canary's toned body. He made sure to completely capture the crooked position he placed himself in perfectly. He began to do the wrinkles of his sweater until he stopped to look at it. It made Alfred look clunky with that thing on. He irritably erased the thin pencil lines and placed his pencil down. It was then he caught Alfred's stare. Cerulean eyes pressed into his soul.

"Do you wish to eat?" Ivan spat. Alfred was silent. "Answer me!"

"Yes…?" His voice meekly choked out. Ivan grimaced. He wanted to hear his bird's voice from before. He wanted to hear the sunshine soaked lungs sing. He remembered the one Sunday where Alfred turned on the radio and cleaned while dancing. Acting as though he was alone, even as a stranger his bird was so comfortable with his presence. It bothered Ivan. Ivan stood up and placed his sketch book on his chair. He walked up the stairs eyes occasionally spying the look of complete fear on his bird's face.

Ivan drew considerably better when he was hungry. He learned this as a young artist who could only afford living space and vodka. He would paint with the thin lines of starvation cutting into his face. Stomach sang silently as he worked away on another waste of time. Few bought his paintings.

Ivan assumed he was unsuccessful because he wasn't very fond of painting nice things. No, he wanted his pictures to capture the emotions of the world around him. Of course the world around him was Russia at its worse, so naturally they were rather ugly emotions. He would sketch away with the red morning sun glaring at his last drop of vodka. Bruised fingers ached as he continually did so.

The Russian always considered these moments he spent as a waste of time. His artwork held a false feeling. He couldn't bleed along with his piece. He could only convince those uneducated about the artistic mind how cruel and hideous everything was. But it didn't feel real.

He could recall how he laid on his dirty floor. The mold underneath would penetrate his nostrils. Tickling Ivan's dry eyes and causing him to cough. Lips thickly pressed into a line, hummed silently. He wasn't sure how long he was like this for. It seemed from lack of food and the constant intoxication hours would lapse. It wasn't until his oldest sister found him, did she force him to find a roommate of some kind.

Ivan originally hated the idea. He hated people. His talent couldn't burgeon naturally if there was someone interfering. However, Toris proved to be a good instrument of better personifying his work.

What could Ivan say about this man? Not much. He was timid, easy to bully, and ready to cower as soon as Ivan raised his hand. But to be fair, Toris did have his sarcastic moments which also warranted him a slap. What Ivan couldn't fathom is why he took it? Was he that desperate for a home that he would willingly take Ivan's abuse?

Ivan reasoned it was also Natalya. The moment her harsh wretched voice reached his ears, he was sold. He weathered the worse with Ivan, just to fantasize about the outer layer of Natalya's delicate features. Perhaps Ivan was jealous of this. He would brood in his room as he could hear Toris cleaning outside. The whistling would spin around the angry Russian's head, and cause him to snap.

The silence was filled to the brim with nothing but random noise. His ears would prick at every step, movement, or even breath Toris made. He would paint to the ambiance of Toris's life, and something about that made things easier.

Still hungry, still drunk, Ivan would deviate from his painting to observe Toris. The man would grow completely stiff if he even suspected Ivan to be a few feet away from him. The dishes would be clinking as he rigidly moved the brown dish towel up and down. Ivan would drag his heels even nearer, gently smiling at Toris's sudden slow movement.

"What tune was that?" Ivan would offhandedly ask. His smile dripping with sheer malice. Toris would leisurely turn around to face Ivan. Eyes clumsily following his feet as he carefully walked past him.

"I made it up," He said. Ivan's eyes would follow the movement of his mouth. The way the words flew so gently.

"Oh," His smile grew. Toris would shrink down.

"I'm sorry if it bothered you." Toris's face grew paler by the minute. Ivan shook his head.

"Nyet," He paused. "I actually find it kind of inspiring how you go by the mechanics of your mind. Sometimes Toris, I envy you deeply."

"Why?" He cautiously asked. Slowly inching his way into his room.

"Because," he licked his dry pulpy lips. "You're free."

The word freedom twisted around stark gnarled hands. Ivan could only dream about such a world to not be ruled by the dark impulses in his mind. That of course didn't mean he ever truly felt sorry for the ones he killed. But he could still feel the moment of solitary creep up on him. How they shrouded him in nothing but sheer blackness. To only hand him a companion, a shred of light that thinly spread on bowl shaped eyes.

Ivan opened his cabinet and found the ambien he used earlier. He knew it was risky to use something that would be of course be discovered in an autopsy later, but Ivan wasn't worried. To this world, he was invisible. All of Alfred's other friends never saw the Russian with him. He knew he had to get rid of the Jap, and that was the height of his concern. The other three, were of no match for him. Plus with the whole fight Alfred had with that annoying Brit, he could only imagine who the police would be targeting.

He knew that didn't mean he was in the clear. Police were getting smarter and his job harder. He mostly took it as a challenge, almost goading the police to catch him. He could have gotten rid of his last bird's body and it would have never found its way back to him. But he wanted to show the world his talent. He wanted to show Toris most of all.

If the Lithuanian had ever so happened to even hear of this, he would have to know it was Ivan. And Ivan has vainly tried to lure the man out, so he could finish what he had started. So he could kill him and all of the beautiful sounds he made. It wasn't an obsession, just a goal.

But Alfred was different than the others. Alfred stroked him in a different way entirely. The man wasn't sure of why, or how. But he had gotten the sensation that this was not another kill, but a moment. A moment of clarity.

It was within weeks of stalking him; he learned things his friends so selfishly ignored. Alfred wasn't happy with his life, he wanted to go beyond. And it made Ivan realize that him and Alfred were exactly the same. Except it just so happened that Alfred was on the opposite spectrum.

He killed Gilbert because he was wasting his freedom. He killed Yao because he hoarded his freedom. But Alfred, well, was another case entirely. Though his wings stretched far and wide, and talons proudly perched, he was too afraid to jump out of his makeshift nest. Cautiously waiting for the wind to blow in his favor. Ivan was that chance. He was sure of it.

Ivan returned to the basement with a hot bowl of porridge. He opened the door quietly to see if Alfred was up to anything. From the top step he could see Alfred trying his hardest to get the rope off. Ivan pushed the door further and watched with delight how the American scrambled to try and appear docile. Ivan smiled knowing he would have to punish him for that. He faintly walked down the steps with porridge in one hand and a gun in the other. He could see Alfred tense up at the sight of a pistol. Ivan snickered to himself.

He placed the porridge on the old coffee table and gently lifted his gun. Alfred's eyes were glued to the barrel. "Your breathing is rather irregular." Ivan noted.

"You have a gun pointed at me." Alfred boldly stated. Ivan grinned.

"Technically it was pointed at your feet but I can raise it higher if you like." Alfred jumped. "Now now, I am not going to shoot you, if you listen to me." His grin stretched wider.

"What do you want?" Alfred's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm going to take those ropes off." He said. Alfred quirked a brow. Ivan knelt down to the man's feet with the gun still pointed at him. With his right hand he grabbed a knife from his pocket and swiftly cut the ropes. Before Alfred could even react to the sudden freedom, Ivan pushed the barrel to his head. "Now get against that wall." He coolly ordered. Not having walked in God knows how long, it took Alfred a moment to stand up again. His legs wobbled over to the wall. Ivan moved the gun to his back and un-did the ropes on his arms. He was pressed firmly against the American with his breath against his ear. Alfred tensed up as the gun pushed into his spine. Ivan slowly walked backwards with the gun pointed at his bird. "Now, turn around."Alfred did so. "Take off your clothes."

"What?" Alfred yelped.

"Do it. I can't sketch you like this. It's distracting."

"Oh my God you're going to rape me!" He cried. Ivan laughed.

"I don't do rape." He coolly countered. "Now take off your clothes!"

Alfred contemplated running away just then. But he knew the Russian was being completely serious. If he even moved ever so slightly his gun traced his steps. Alfred sharply inhaled enjoying the little freedom he had. Reluctantly, he stripped until he was in his boxers.

"The boxers too."

"Please, just let me-"

"Your brother seems like a nice guy. He goes to that fancy art college in Santa Fe right? Dorm 301 if I remember correctly." Alfred paled at Ivan's random statement.

"Are you threatening to hurt my brother?" He weakly asked.

"You figure it out."

And with that said, Alfred took off the last shred of clothing he had. Ivan nodded in approval. He observed his bird for a moment, trying his best to memorize every last detail. His skin was a little whiter, and there was a few moles he could he see. He got a sense of pride when he saw how beautifully his bruises blossomed over his rib cage. He noticed just how painful it was for Alfred to even stand up straight. The purples and greens would be wonderful for watercolor.

Ivan marveled his marks until he saw an old faded scar on Alfred's chest. Ivan envisioned how pink it must have been once. It was a dull white now, begging to be touched. He wanted to inherit whatever memories were attached to it. He wanted to hear Alfred's story, but this wasn't the time.

"Huh, I expected more of you." The Russian remarked. Alfred looked angry for a moment before he remembered his place. Ivan relished the dark expression. He wanted to push his pet. "Now, you see that bag in the corner there?"

"Yes." It was a beaten up leather bag with a long black strap.

"There's a camera inside, take it out, and set it up on the tripod where I'm standing." Ivan ordered with the gun motioning him to the bag. Alfred did so, hiding his face feeling very vulnerable. "Very good my bird." He cooed. Alfred's heart shrunk as the heat on his face increased. "Now get back on the mattress how you were before." Alfred stood there confused. "Nyet, you're doing it wrong."

Feeling a sense of panic, Alfred laid down. Ivan still appeared to be unhappy. "Not like that." He grumbled. Ivan then grabbed his brown sketch book that was still on the chair and threw it at Alfred. "Look at where the page is marked. I want you to replicate that pathetic position you were in." Alfred shook like a leaf as he quickly thumbed through the pages. His eyes quickly caught a glimpse of the words: "_my favorite"_ written in sloppy pencil. He didn't have time to see what it was though and found the page Ivan was drawing him in. Alfred studied it for a moment and then placed the sketch book down. He tried to lie how he was before. It seemed to appease Ivan who began to fiddle with the camera.

Ivan set the camera on a timer. The flashes brilliantly highlighted the surprised look on Alfred's face. A Polaroid photo slipped from the bottom. Ivan set the timer for a few more times wanting to have more than one reference. Alfred felt absolutely humiliated. His body bare for a sick creep to enjoy. The man felt sick to his stomach.

Although he really wanted to see if the photos developed alright, he didn't wish to turn his attention away from Alfred. Ivan cautiously grabbed the bowl of porridge and handed it to him.

"Eat it." He ordered. Alfred reluctantly picked up the spoon from inside the bowl and shoveled some into his mouth. "Swallow."

It felt like lead going down. His stomach appreciated the small morsel of food but Alfred had a feeling it was drugged. He held in his lip and tried his hardest to not lose it again. He was naked, at the mercy of a deranged man who had already killed one of his friends. He looked over at Ivan who ordered him to finish it. Alfred hesitantly took another bite, noticing the strange taste.

"You drugged this." He finally spoke up. Ivan scoffed.

"I cannot trust you to not run away. I need to tie you back up."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to drug me before?" He stirred the porridge around not wanting to take another bite.

"Yes, but I wouldn't get the emotion I need. Even what I just photographed is too shallow." Ivan wasn't sure why he was allowing himself to have conversation with his bird. Maybe it was that lack of having someone to talk to before that caused it to feel refreshing. "Finish it." He shook his gun.

Alfred ate another spoonful. "Why me?"

Ivan was silent for a moment. He mulled over his reasoning and found it to be too personal. He chose not to answer and waited for Alfred to finish. Ivan took the bowl and waited until the drugs took their effect, his violet irises tracing around Alfred's. Alfred finally fell asleep leaving Ivan alone with his thoughts. Ivan gathered the photos along with his sketch book and tied Alfred back up.

He threw the photos on the dining room table. He shifted through them looking at the individual characteristics each Polaroid displayed. The manic expression laced on Alfred's face just didn't seem to fit. He sighed and placed the picture down. Something dark inside Ivan stirred.

The man walked into his kitchen and opened the freezer door. His bottle of vodka patiently waited for Ivan to touch its glassy exterior. Ivan twisted the cap and took a swig. He licked his lips loving the strong liquor taste and set it down. His mind began to buzz with various thoughts.

How was he going to punish his pet?

_**AN: **__This chapter is a little fucky I know. The whole bit with Toris was a separate chapter entirely that didn't feel right when I originally started to write it. I think I have the hardest time writing Ivan. I'm not sure what it is about his character in particular that I struggle with but I do. _

_Also, I was having a hard time trying to be mature and not make a joke when Alfred was eating the porridge….naked, with a gun pointed at him. See? THAT SOUNDS FUNNY! I'M NOT SICK I SWEAR! I'm starting to realize that my strong suit in writing is comedy opposed to horror or angst. _

_THANK YOU FOR SOME OF THE NICEST REVIEWS! You guys spoil me with your kindness! I'm really glad you are enjoying this story! I'm not sure when the next update will be, but I can't wait! R&R!  
><em>


	12. Avoiding the Subject

"You were screaming again." His words made the Lithuanian jump. The sweat clamped his hair to his face, hiding the crazed expression in his eyes. He kept walking, avoiding the statement altogether. His friend huffed and followed him into the kitchen.

"Like you need help." His friend then pulled out the chair from their kitchen table. Toris wasn't entirely sure if Feliks was actually concerned, or annoyed to be woken up at four in the morning. He picked the latter.

The young Lithuanian opened the fridge and stared at its contents with disinterest. He sighed and gently shut it. He then pulled a chair out and sat on the opposite end of Feliks. Feliks was wearing a giant blue shirt that barely covered his knees. Toris hoped to God there was a pair of boxers under there.

"Sorry," he finally managed to muster. "I didn't mean to wake you up." His friend carelessly tossed his head to the side and snorted.

"Yeah yeah." He waved it off. "I'm just saying, this has been going on for like three weeks. Go see a therapist or something." If only it was that easy. Toris didn't want the memories that rattled inside his head to ever be under scrutiny. What could a doctor do about the constant terrors? He had already been prescribed sleeping pills, which ultimately made the dreams worse.

Toris was thankful that the bold crude images slowly dissipated inside his mind. He sleepily closed his eyes as he recollected his last dream. His throat still burned from the screeching of terror that escaped his throat. He swallowed thickly and reopened his eyes. Trying his best to forget those two violet eyes that stared at him with such hate.

Feliks appeared bored. He drummed his fingers against the table, his eyes drilled holes in Toris's head. Toris did feel bad about waking him up. He didn't know his PTSD would be aggravated by a flimsy news report.

He didn't even know if what happened had anything to do with him. Something inside Toris's gut churned and told him to stay inside. His mind raced with several possibilities. Did Ivan know where he was?

Years and years ago, he raced out of the Russian border and found himself country hopping. Before he knew it, he was living in Queens New York with his old college classmate. Toris was thankful he came across somebody like Feliks and clung to him for dear life. Though he could never trust another person ever again, he couldn't stand being alone. He didn't trust that Ivan wasn't lurking somewhere, watching his every move.

Toris had to learn how to live again. He changed his name a number of times, and even his appearance. He worked at a publishing company and kept a low profile. He made little friends, but didn't mind.

Toris had grown comfortable in Queens and didn't feel as weary as he used to. It had been years since he had last seen Ivan. He didn't have to wake up every minute to see if the door was locked. He didn't have to constantly ask Feliks to go grocery shopping with him or to the post office. He could finally enjoy life.

That was until Gilbert Belischimdt was found dead.

Toris thought nothing of the governor's brother suddenly disappearing. It didn't affect him, and he wasn't the least bit curious about it. A lot of people go missing, especially in New York. So he shrugged off the news report and went about his life. But then, they found him dead in Colorado. Which also wasn't terribly strange to Toris. A lot of people die from the hands of another.

It was when he walked past a news stand a few weeks ago did he feel ill. His eyes so happened to catch a glimpse of the headline: "GOVENOR MOURNS DEATH OF BROTHER" and under it lied the most chilling words ever. "WORKS OF A SERIAL KILLER!"

He picked up one of the newspapers, somewhat interested, and read the poorly written fear mongering media. He dropped it in a puddle nearby, gave the man a dollar, and lumbered away in a haze.

"_Feathers were found to be glued onto the Prussian's skin. Each placed with the intention of making fake wings. It was later confirmed these were actual bird feathers."_

Ivan loved birds. It's all the madman ever seemed to paint. One time he described to Toris in great detail how he painted the feathers.

"_With precision and care." _It took him months to finish a painting because of the feathers.

But it wasn't just the vague description, it was the opportunity that followed. Toris knew why Ivan would pick Gilbert. He was already in the lime light with the media, which provided him with a better opportunity to stalk the Prussian. He also theorized that Ivan would probably hate somebody like Gilbert. Toris knew Ivan like the back of his hand.

If Ivan did find Toris, or at least come close, Gilbert would be a warning. The Russian wanted Toris to go to the police. He wanted him to get him arrested. Ivan was tricky, cunning; he would find a way to break out. He would finally have his bird.

Toris shook it out of his head. A part of him felt silly, or at least wanted to. He wanted to say he was being too paranoid. And in all reality, it certainly did sound like it. Which was why Toris kept this to himself. If Feliks ever did ask about his past, or his nightmares, Toris brushed it off. He kept his lips tight, and theories safely tucked inside his brain.

So when he looked over to his friend, whose eyes sleepily studied him, he sat up and said good night. He then went into the bathroom and washed his face. The thoughts still buzzed through his ears, which egged him on to reach into the medicine cabinet and take two sleeping pills. As he plopped them in his mouth, he wearily caught the look of guilt in his own eyes.

"What good would it do? He's already dead." He whispered to himself. His mouth became a thin pressed line as the tears dribbled out. "There will be more." He whispered again. "There will be more."

The shrill sound of whistling filled the room…

XXX

Arthur didn't go home until 1 in the morning.

The next day they searched. And searched. And searched. It had been a week and still no word from Alfred. Arthur and Matthew along with his parents gathered up concerned neighbors and friends to help them find Alfred. They first tried the area the crash happened, even a little further than that.

His face was pale, eyes sunken in from the lack of sleep he had been having. He reluctantly got inside their apartment, and almost lost it when he noticed that everything was how he left it a week ago. Francis originally offered Arthur to stay at his place, but Arthur wanted to stay at the apartment just in case Alfred randomly returned.

He had to explain to a frantic twin what happened to his brother. He then had to tell two frantic parents who made more of a fuss to the police than he did.

It was yesterday when they finally reported him missing. Officer Carriedo weakly smiled and told him that Alfred would be found. That he would return alive. Arthur dumped his backpack on the floor and shuffled to the couch. His stomach growled but he was too upset to even think about eating. Where was his friend?

Arthur closed his eyes and pictured Alfred's face. The deep blue that always resonated with people. His apple cheek smile that was just so infectious. The sound of his obnoxious laugh that always echoed at inappropriate moments.

The Brit choked up, but didn't have it in him to cry.

The same day they reported Alfred was missing, was the same day he and Francis made another visit to Kiku. He wasn't any better than he was the first day he arrived there. Dr. Hedevery shook her long sandy brown locks with a sympathetic gaze. She told Francis the possibility of surgery and them needing to get a hold of an actual relative.

Arthur left Francis with that problem. He had search parties to organize, people to calm, and a business to keep afloat. He couldn't even really think about the business when the person who started it with him hasn't been found in over a week.

What if he's dead?

Arthur threw that thought out as soon as it entered his brain. He had to stay optimistic. He had to remain hopeful. But what did hope really do in this situation? From a negative perspective, hope only brought disappointment, and Arthur couldn't afford to have his worse fears quenched. The Brit sighed and closed his eyes. The living room was cool, and unbearably silent. He laid stiff on the flower plastered couch they got from his aunt.

It was then when the phone rang. Arthur shot up and listened to it a bit disoriented. The shrill ring twisted and turned inside Arthur's guts. He leapt off the couch and ran into the kitchen. He ripped the phone off of the hook.

"Hello?" He quivered.

The breathing this time was louder. Faint words were traced along every inhale and exhale. Arthur screamed. He then grabbed the entire thing and flung it off the wall, smashing it to pieces. Who was tormenting him and why?

With staggering breaths came broken sobs. His body suddenly felt very heavy and he fell onto the kitchen floor. "Oh Goddammit!" He banged his fist against the cool tile. The tears and snot rolling down his face, he wept like a toddler who didn't get their way. His whole being heaved cinderblock shoulders that crumbled in the dark kitchen.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose his safe and secure world. He couldn't lose his best friend. So abruptly, without any warning.

Arthur Kirkland was out of his element. There were just so many search parties he could orchestrate before Alfred became forgotten. A faded milk carton picture that gets crumpled and thrown away. It had only been a week and he felt his hope slipping.

But what Arthur didn't know, was that the voice on the other line was watching him. With red curious eyes, they roamed over his pathetic form. Gilbert knew where Alfred was.

And eventually, so would Arthur.

XXXX

_**AN: **__Sorry to abruptly stop here….I almost wrote another part with Ivan and Alfred but I think that needs to happen next chapter. So what do you think?_

_Sorry for the long wait….I had been uber busy with finals and school….Also I was more so in the mood to write poetry than narrative, but that has now flipped. I have this problem where I take on several projects at once. I also brought back my comic series after a year of hiatus because I missed working on it._

_ANYWAY, I think this chapter isn't too bad. I felt like the time was right for Toris to enter the story. Super thankies to all who review/fave/follow this story! YOU GUYS GRATE MY CHEESE! (that's a good thing being an Italian-American) R&R! Knowing me, this next update will more than likely be sooner than later._


	13. Disturbing your Existence

Alfred never agreed with others when they said he had his father's eyes. Perhaps from a quick glance, it was an easy mistake to be made. But Alfred had looked into those eyes and seen the differences right away.

It was the night when he had come to his parents' house for dinner. He hadn't told them he had quit school, packed up his dorm, or had plans to move to New Mexico. He hadn't informed them in the slightest that he never wanted to be a lawyer. Let alone a carbon copy of his father.

Alfred held his breath and kicked his chicken around with a fork. His mother, who recently became concerned about her son's growing odd behavior, was the first to ask about school. At that, Alfred took one long gulp of his sweet red wine and carefully set down the glass.

"I dropped out." The words were so shallow escaping his lips yet so heavy when entering his parents' ears. His father right away slammed his cup on the table. His eyes that were supposed to be Alfred's were frosted.

Before long, Alfred was inside his father's office. He sat on the opposite side of the man's mahogany desk. He paced around Alfred like a shark circling his victim. He always promised their mother he would leave his work at the firm. But Alfred and Matthew knew well enough that their father could never ditch the clever questions or resist the ability to one-up you in argument.

He smoothed down his gray white hair with rough hands. His lips twisted into a snarl, which further extenuated the look of disappointment that never truly left his face. His father finally plopped down into his chair. He reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out an expensive bottle of scotch along with a glass. Not one word had been uttered but those eyes said everything. They were waxed over with rage, but held a sense of concern. They were but pools of smoke that made the room feel thick with hot air. Jackson Jones was good at his job, and it showed.

"Son," he said as he poured the brown liquid into his glass. "Care to explain why you didn't inform your mother and I about this?" He took a quiet sip and gauged his son's reaction. His face remained placid.

"I think I just did." His tone wasn't disrespectful in the least, yet carried resentment. His father slammed his glass on his desk.

"You know what I mean goddammit!" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long have you been out of school?"

Alfred swished the dry spit inside his mouth. "About a month." His father fell back into his seat. Silence suffocated the both of them. Alfred's eyes wandered to the photographs on his dad's desk. There was one of him and Matthew as children. They were sitting on the dock at the family lake house. They both were smiling wearing orange and red swimming trunks. Alfred suddenly felt consumed by the image when he looked at his chest. It was so bare, fragile with obvious sun burn being the only intruder. His fingers curled feeling his cotton shirt gently scrape against that same spot.

"Alfred? Are you listening to me?" His father's voice boomed over his thoughts. He returned his gaze to his dad's eyes. His father stared at him for a moment. He then poured more scotch. "Alfred, you can't just stop going to school after I paid so much to get you in."

"I got in because the Dean owed you a favor." Alfred spat. At this his dad stood up.

"Look, I worked hard to get you into that school! I broke my back getting you into that school! And now, on a whim, you want to leave? Why?!" His father's voice had grown louder. "Are you on drugs?" Alfred also stood up.

"No dad, I just don't want to do this anymore!"

"Do what? Create a future?" His father retorted. Alfred shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "I have a plan. Me and Arthur are moving down to New Mexico." At this his father gaped at him like he was mad.

"And do what?" He was completely critical of the idea. Alfred huffed.

"We're starting a business. Arthur purchased a coffee shop down in Albuquerque." His father sat back down in his seat. He twirled his scotch with his index finger. He looked at his son with borrowed eyes.

"Well that's fine and dandy in all, but what are you going to do when you want to run away from that? Because let me tell you, I will not be here to help you when things begin to fall through. And trust me, they will." Alfred turned red.

"Why can't you believe in me for once!"

"I don't know, why can't you follow through with what you say you are going to do?" His father roared. Alfred clenched his fists.

"Dad, I'm 22 years old!"

"Exactly, you should act like it!" He interrupted. Alfred fumed.

"I am! People change their majors all of the time. People change their plans. I'm not-"

"Alfred, this isn't just changing your major. This is changing your life. It isn't a matter of not becoming a lawyer; it's a matter of jumping on whatever bandwagon you can find. When you were a child, I knew you held so much promise. You were quick, you were smart. But you changed-" Alfred groaned.

"People change all of the time dad." Alfred pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When his glasses slid back on he could see something else stirring inside his father. Something foreign from anger, which surprised Alfred.

"What are you running from?" The question startled the blond. He wasn't sure of how to answer it.

"Nothing." He mused. "I just need a change of scenery."

It was very obvious his father didn't believe him. His gaze hardened. "Your brother told me something last year. Something that deeply disturbed me. He didn't give me a lot of detail, but-"

At this Alfred threw his chair at the ground. "But what? Now you care to be involved? Now you want to be father of the year! Once I defy that forceful mold you presented before me, you are now interested? Whatever Matthew told you, I know nothing about, and it has nothing to do with my decision. I don't want to be a lawyer; I don't want to be you!" Alfred headed for the door.

"Alfred if you walk out that door, and move down to New Mexico, consider me dead!"

"Gladly." Alfred then slammed the door shut.

XXX

Alfred was awakened by a cold stream of water. His eyes shot open. He wiggled in his tight restraints. "What the hell?!" The water chilled his bones as it jumped from an old shower head. He anxiously looked around still feeling disoriented. Where was his captor? Alfred tried to move his legs that were forcefully smashed up inside the small shower. "Hey!" He yelled. Suddenly, two giant purple eyes peaked through the glass. Alfred jumped. The door was then yanked open revealing his captor with a bemused look on his face.

"Cold?"

"Y-yes." Alfred shivered. Ivan peered inside and looked at the handles. He then with a sadistic grin turned it all the way on hot. Alfred let out a yelp as the hot water burned his bruises. This seemed to amuse Ivan even further.

"Wait right here, I need my camera." He then shut the glass door.

"Wait, you can't-" Ivan lumbered out of the bathroom. Alfred saw his opportunity and tried to stand up. The task proved to be extremely difficult not having his arms or legs to steady himself on the wet surface. He bit his tongue as the hot water continued to singe his skin. It was now or never. He laid his back against the wall and tried to keep his feet as firmly planted as he could. He then with great pace slowly slid up the wall. He couldn't believe it, he was standing! Now to somehow get out of the ropes. He looked to his side and saw a cheap plastic razor sitting on a soap dish. It was probably dull, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Leaning against the wall, Alfred slowly twisted his body to its side. He then with much pain, tried to reach for the razor with his bounded hands. Alfred felt its plastic handle touch finger tips, but before he could even think of using it, he lost his balance and slipped.

Ivan heard a loud thud from his room and chuckled. He wondered if his bird was going to try that. He then walked back into the bathroom with camera in hand. He yanked the glass door open to reveal his canary facing the opposite way he was before. He must have fallen face first, wonderful. Ivan grabbed a handful of blond hair and threw back against the wall. Alfred screamed feeling the pain in his ribs.

"Stop whining." The Russian teased. Alfred was bleeding from the mouth, Ivan checked to see if he lost any teeth. No luck. He then reached for his camera and snapped a few shots. He then placed his camera on his counter and turned the water to warm. He grabbed a dish towel from under the sink and wiped the blood from Alfred's face. Alfred feeling very light headed, fussed with the clothed hand that kept poking him in the eye. Ivan grabbed his face and squeezed it tightly. He lowered his lips to his ear. "Cut it out." He harshly whispered. Alfred stiffened. Ivan then let go of his face and grabbed the soap. He started washing his bird's bruised body while whistling. Alfred felt his skin crawl as Ivan scrubbed his abused flesh. His toes curled as Ivan began to scrub his legs.

"Why are you washing me?" His breath grew shaky with every pained inhale. Ivan snapped his head up.

"The one thing I noticed about you was that you were very clean." He grabbed the shampoo bottle. "I liked it." He lathered some of it in Alfred's hair. He was very rough with the man's scalp, as his nails dug into his head. Alfred twitched in his grasp. He growled and rinsed out his hair. Ivan finally turned off the water and admired his canary who was sopping wet inside his shower. Slowly, his fingers reached towards the man's scar. Alfred shuddered as the tip of his nail lightly traced against the mark. They made eye contact for a moment. Both absorbing the other in their gazes. Ivan didn't open his mouth and utter any threat; Alfred didn't squirm under the man's prolonged touch. It wasn't a matter of trust, or fear, it was a matter of curiosity. Or at least, that's how Ivan took it.

His fingers pulled away from the scar. But his eyes remained glued to his current victim. If only Alfred would stay still, he would paint this. He was so vulnerable, yet in some sick way, still had control. He wasn't like how he was the other day, screaming, crying. He was still, but he didn't possess the same kind of stillness the others had. His heart drummed a quiet beat, his breath shallowly whispered secrets. It was beautiful. They were silently fighting the other.

Ivan stood up and grabbed his camera off of his counter. He watched Alfred shiver as he took more photos. He then grabbed a towel from under the sink and wrapped it around him. "Why me?" Alfred spoke again. Ivan picked the man up and threw him over his shoulder. He then walked into his bedroom which was connected to his bathroom and threw Alfred on his bed.

All of the curtains were drawn, leaving Alfred with no idea what time of the day it was. He initially thought it was morning but now he wasn't so sure. His head was swimming with the new realization he was in Ivan's bed. He began to squirm in his restraints once more as the panic crept up his spine. Ivan peered at him confused.

"What are you doing?" He critically questioned.

"Can't you please let me go?" Alfred pleaded pushing the thick tears back.

"Nyet, my work isn't done." Ivan paused thoughtfully. "Though it was nice to hear you beg."

At this Alfred cringed. "Work?"

"Da," Ivan sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his boots. Alfred squirmed more. "I'm not done with you until I can create my masterpiece."

Alfred gulped, wishing to avoid the next question that came to mind. "And then you will let me go?" Ivan giggled.

"So cute." He mused as he got up and headed towards his closet. He opened the door and pulled out an easel and a canvas. From what Alfred could see, there were multiple paintings packed inside. From the corner of his eye, he saw a yellow blob. Ivan returned to the front of the bed and began to set up his equipment. "Why would I let you go?" He scoffed as he filled up his pallet with several paints. "You would turn me in as soon as you stepped foot outside."

"No I wouldn't!" Alfred quickly argued. At this, Ivan gave him a deadpan look.

"You wouldn't turn me in?"

"No," he lied. Ivan giggled again.

"Even though I murdered your friend and humiliated you?" He said. Alfred held his breath for a moment. "Thought so." He then walked back to the bathroom and filled a cup of water. "You would have to be sick in the head to not turn me in." Ivan walked over to Alfred and draped a white sheet over his waist. He returned to his canvas and eyed his composition for a few more moments. Something still felt off, but Ivan brushed it off deciding it would get better when painting. He started to mix colors. "Besides, if you really think about it Alfred, why would you want to be let go?"

"I'm sure the reasons are very obvious." He snapped. Ivan shrugged.

"But think about it," he started as he painted a light yellow on the canvas. "Even if you made it out of this alive, you would never be sane again. Though the worst is yet to come, the damage is done. You wouldn't be able to go back to your business; you wouldn't be able to joke with your friends. I mean you wouldn't even be able to trust your friends." Ivan continued painting. "Life would never be the same. I would always be there, haunting you."

"H-how do you know?" Alfred grew disturbed at the realization but refused to believe he would be better off dead than alive and afraid.

"How do I know?" Ivan cooed. "They always beg for their lives in the end. That's how I know." The room became eerily quiet. The only noises that could be heard were the sound of Ivan painting.

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction." Alfred breathed. Ivan stunned, paused, and placed his paint brush in the water. He devoured the look of fear that still remained on his bird's face despite the cocky comment. After a few more moments of silence, Ivan returned to painting.

"You say that now." He smirked. "But just wait, your punishment has yet to come."

"Punishment?"

"Da, for trying to escape twice." He grimaced at how splotchy his paints looked. "I knew I should have used water color."

"What are you going to do to me?" Alfred fearfully asked. Ivan merely shrugged.

"I'm not sure yet." He licked his lips. Alfred's head throbbed but he could care less. It was the intense fear that shrouded the dizzy spells and spurs of pain that protruded through his skull. What could he do?

In fact, was anyone looking for him? Well they had to be. He once provided Arthur with the description of his Sunday customer, and hell, he probably stopped going to the café. Maybe it would click with the Brit that he was a shady character. What about the dead bird in front of Kiku's store? That had to do with him. A lump formed inside Alfred's throat.

Kiku was dead.

He may end up the same.

And he will never see any of his friend or family again.

Alfred couldn't accept this. If God was gracious enough to allow him to get this far, then he would fight nail and tooth. He would find a way out, somehow. Alfred choked, refusing to allow himself to cry anymore. He couldn't let Kiku's death be in vain. He wouldn't allow it.

But it was almost as though the restraints were but a reminder that he was anchored to this bed. His captor's paintings were but proof he was left exposed, and used. Alfred overcame the fuzziness inside his brain, and stared dauntingly before him. He needed a plan.

"What's your name?" The statement flung out of the blond's mouth. He peered at his captor who quirked a brow.

"Why must you know?" Ivan carefully questioned. Alfred bit his lip.

"So I can put a face to the artist."

"Or to your killer." Ivan retorted.

"If you are certain I am going to die by your hands, then what does me knowing your name make a difference?" Alfred's face burnished a brilliant shade of red. Ivan dipped his brush in his water and observed the expression. It was so defiant, but not in the way one would expect it to be. With his jaw locked safely shut, and eye brows cleverly knit, it was more inspiring to look at Alfred. He had never seen such a face on a prisoner.

All Gilbert did was spout out curses and threats. His German accent made the words sound even uglier every time he uttered them. It was as though Gilbert just wanted Ivan to hate him, and it worked. Ivan already loathed the man's wasted existence, but as time went on, he completely despised him. The albino pushed his captor's buttons every given chance. Which was totally idiotic because all it did was drive Ivan to torture him even more. With every snarky comment, there was a blow to follow. It became tiresome because Ivan could never decently paint a picture of him without having to get up and beat the shit out of him.

Eventually, Ivan just threw him in the basement and neglected his pet. He placed a mirror in front of him realizing the man was undeterred by physical abuse, but completely broken when he saw how dead he looked. He was so egotistical that he actually cried for the first time he had him just by seeing his reflection. It disgusted Ivan.

"Does that mean you give up?" Ivan asked. Of course he knew better however, it wouldn't be the first time somebody _tried_ to be chummy with him in order to gain their freedom.

"I'm trapped." Alfred mustered. Ivan allowed himself to smirk feeling that the tone inside Alfred's voice just sounded all too sweet.

Alright, he'll play along. "Ivan."

"Ivan." Alfred quietly repeated. Ivan laughed.

"It's funny." He mumbled. "You never once asked for my name when I came by every Sunday."

"It felt intrusive." Alfred countered. Ivan hummed. He found that his red began to freely spread across his canvas. The color on Alfred's face knew no boundaries, and it looked beautiful.

"Intrusive?" Ivan finally took a break from the red and stood up. He stepped back from his work, and discovered his brush must have escaped reality. Though not abstract, this had been the most expressive painting he had done in a very long time. His eyes slowly shifted away from the painting and met Alfred's.

"You were so into your art," Alfred breathed. "If I had said anything or asked any questions, it would have disrupted that world."

Ivan didn't believe Alfred's poetic sentiment for a second but decided to go along with it. "Our worlds get disrupted all of time." To up the ante, Ivan crawled onto his bed and lied next to Alfred. He leaned close to man's ear and smiled when he noticed the goose bumps on his arms. "This is proof, da?"

XXX

Officer Carriedo had a headache. His fingers gripped the wheel with complete disinterest as he drove in a fog. It had gotten considerably cooler in the last two days, and the chilly weather started to effect his usually sunny disposition. But it wasn't really the coming of winter that bothered him; it was the conversation he had earlier. His superior's words continually echoed in his head causing it to hurt more.

He had sat idly in a cheap plastic chair. Eyes mimicking the movement of his superior's legs. His boots clacked like thunder causing the man to tense. His lips twisted with the thick brown mustache glued under his nose. He acted as though the rookie cop was the cause of his sudden responsibility. He took a seat in his leather chair and sat down.

"You wished to speak sir?" Officer Carriedo was never good with confrontations. He couldn't have peddled those words anymore nervously. His Superior glared at him and leaned back.

"That damn Jackson Jones gave me an earful this morning." He huffed. "He acts as though it's my fault the boy went missing!" He then grabbed his paperweight and played with it in his rough calloused hands.

"I'm sorry sir."

"How long has it been since the boy went missing?" He questioned. Carriedo counted on his fingers.

"Two and a half weeks?" He wasn't sure. Since he first arrived at the hospital and encountered Mr. Kirkland, it had felt considerably longer. All he did was answer calls from Mr. Kirkland, make flighty comments about the progress of finding Alfred, and drive past every flyer of the blue eyed boy on street lamps. In all honesty, the job wasn't Carriedo's anymore. He was only supposed to take in the report, but after seeing the man's glasses in the snow, he couldn't let go. He was never the type to speak his mind, but he knew there was little work being done. By the third day it was quite apparent that Alfred Jones had been put on the back burner. He was told they had more pressing matters to tend to. However, with every broken tail light the man encountered, the emptier he felt.

Never had he felt so unfulfilled in his life. Off the clock, he went back to the place the accident happened. He searched for clues in the cold brisk night, only to go home empty handed and sad. It was just today he began to ignore Mr. Kirkland's calls, he couldn't handle the constant questions the man threw at him. He didn't know what happened to Alfred Jones. He didn't understand what happened to Alfred Jones. And he couldn't take the stress of the situation anymore.

"Exactly. These things take time." His Superior said. Officer Carriedo nodded.

"Very true sir." He numbly agreed. His Superior drummed his fingers against his desk.

"But time is money for those damn New Yorkers," he venomously spat. "I will not be told by some hack from Manhattan that I am doing my job wrong."

"It isn't right sir." Carriedo weakly added.

"Look Carriedo, there's a reason why I called you in here."

"Yes sir?" He innocently asked.

"I need you to file a report."

"I already filed-"

"No Carriedo," His Superior leaned in closely to him. "This has nothing to do with ticket violations or anything. This is a witness report."

"Witness?"

"Yes," He said coolly. "I need you to tell us again, what exactly happened with that boy's co-worker that night you first talked to him." It was then when Carriedo felt his heart drop.

"Why?" He asked. His Superior appeared annoyed with the question and grunted.

"Why? Think about it son! The first night, the man leads you to his glasses! Don't you find that a little suspicious he knew exactly where they were?" He then placed his paperweight back on his desk. "I have a funny feeling about that man." At this, Carriedo perked up.

"Sir, with all due respect, I do not think Kirkland has anything to do with the disappearance of Alfred Jones." He couldn't believe this. They were already getting prepared to blame Arthur. It was the lazy man's way out. They must have just assumed that Alfred is dead and not to be found, and decided to sloppily throw the blame.

"And what makes you think that?" His Superior questioned curtly. The young cop gulped, shrinking under the man's gaze.

"It's a feeling I have."

"A feeling?" The man chortled. "Look Carriedo," he began in a warning tone of voice. "I've been here long enough to know that nobody, and I mean nobody, is worth lending my trust to. Police work doesn't involve feelings; it involves evidence and common sense. This strange man leads you to a spot with evidence, use your fucking common sense. He's co-owner; he probably has something to gain. Not to mention that just yesterday a little old man comes in and tells us in great detail that the two got in an argument the day Alfred Jones went missing. Isn't that just a little suspicious?"

"Well yes," Carriedo reluctantly admitted. "But I still don't think-"

"You don't think. You do. Got it?" He then slid over the form to Antonio to fill out. Antonio stared at the paper like it wasn't real. He sighed.

"Are we going to arrest him?"

"Not yet, we need a warrant for his arrest." He snappily answered.

"Will this give you the warrant?" He questioned. The man rolled his eyes.

"Antonio, may I call you Antonio?" Antonio nodded and he went on. "This may appear to be very rash, but unless we can actually find another decent suspect, I don't see many other options."

"But sir, we haven't really investigated other people." Antonio quickly countered. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's because there are no other people to investigate. Who wanted this kid dead? I can't-"

"We haven't found his body yet! He might be out there, alive!" Antonio felt a sudden adrenaline rush and stood up. His superior did likewise and gave him an ugly look.

"Listen to me boy," he growled. "I've been here much longer than you! I know a weirdo when I see one! You either fill out this form or pack up your things and go!"

It was then Officer Carriedo had to make one of the biggest decisions in his career. If he filled out the form, they would arrest Arthur and take him in for questioning. If he refused, he lost his job and his family's respect. He already transferred to Albuquerque to avoid dealing with gang bangers and drugs, how would this make him look? Perhaps his Superior sensed his second thoughts for he sat down and eyed Carriedo carefully.

"If the man has nothing to hide, he won't be here long." He said calmly.

Officer Carriedo sat back down.

XXX

_**AN: **__Dun dun dun! Sooo I'm stopping here…yeah…Remember when I said the update would come sooner than later? Well, I started writing this the following week….However, THE EFFIN PART WITH SPAIN WAS SLOWING ME DOWN! I almost cut that part out all together but I needed it for the next chapter….It was awkward, probably misinformed, and looong. Jesus! No matter what I wrote it didn't sound right…._

_So yeah. I am loving Alfred and Ivan's interactions. It's rather fun to write it out…Even as the writer I am not sure what to expect either to do. What did you think? Good, bad, horrendous? R&R! Also, super thankies to those who review, fave, follow, or secretly read this….._


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